Condemnation
by Emmithar
Summary: To betray your king was a grave offense, to try and kill him, even worse. Nothing would protect him, unless by chance the king lived, and spoke of the falsehood before the morning hour came.
1. A Charge

**Condemnation**

**By: **Emmithar

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer: **Sadly I only own characters who you do not recognize

**Summary: **To betray your king was a grave offense, to try and kill him, even worse. The penalty for treason, he knew, was death. It did not matter that he was free of guilt. Nothing would protect him, unless by chance the king lived, and spoke of the falsehood before the morning hour came.

**A/N: **Another short story bit I'll post in between updates of my main story. Not sure how many chapters yet. Leave a little note if you enjoy! Thanks goes to _Kegel _for the beta :)

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**Chapter One: **A Charge

Robin was well aware of just how cold these nights could become, but even the coldest of them could not match the icy chill he felt inside. It was colder than the air that surrounded him, chiller than the sand that supported his weight, and icier than the shackles that bound him by the wrists. And they were cold enough that he could no longer feel his wrists. Or perhaps it was from how tight they were. He had long ago given up trying to decide what the cause was.

His hands were bound in front, given him some mobility, but the shackles were joined by a chain that led to a solid post near him. It ran the height of the tent, the end buried so deeply in the sand that there was no hope of escape. And even if he somehow managed to free himself from this imprisonment, there would be nowhere to run. Not with the whole of the king's private army just beyond the folds of the tent.

Yet Robin knew that even if the opportunity somehow presented itself, he would not run. The sigh was bitter, catching in his throat and he forced himself to swallow as he wrapped his arms about his knees. His head was pressed against them both, trying to banish both ill thoughts and feelings that he had. The strain he was experiencing was starting to become too much, and though he wanted to pretend he no longer cared, Robin knew that it was not true.

When he had first come here with his men, he knew the chances of dying were fair enough. Yet he had expected it in battle, by the hands of his enemies. To hear the king proclaim him a traitor had been hard enough, to be punished by him was even worse. But what had truly hurt was the knowledge that his king had been tricked, and was walking into a trap. To know that they were to die, and accomplish nothing, was more than he could bear. But karma was a strange thing indeed.

A time ago, back when he was still in England, an assassin had attempted to take his life. Robin had the choice to kill the man, to take away what the man had tried to take from him, but something had swayed him, something had held him from doing so. When Carter had confessed his lust for revenge, Robin had known why he hadn't done so. And in sparing Carter's life, something had come from it. Carter had spared theirs.

Riding out to Imuiz, Robin had no qualms in placing himself in danger. The sheriff, he knew, was up to something, and no doubt whatever it was would happen during this exchange. When he had suggested to the king of his plan to impersonate him, the man had been wary. But he had given Robin his trust, had hidden away safely, and had seen as a trap had been laid. Forgiveness had been asked for, but Robin had already given it. He himself knew how well the sheriff could deceive. That was why they had to follow; it was why it all had to end before the sheriff tried again.

But within the city they had been separated. In groups of twos and threes, constantly switching, watching their backs. Carter had been the first to fall, his death swift and sudden. And in the span of a moment, the king had taken an arrow. Marian had protected him, but she too had paid for her courage. Robin had watched from a distance, unable to reach her, to see to the king, and it felt as though no matter how fast he ran, he could not reach them.

Then there had been a commotion, a band of soldiers, riding into the fray. Robin had first thought them coming to help. Vaysey and Gisborne had already fled, two soldiers turning to follow, but the rest coming into the center of the town where both king and maiden lay. Even before Robin could shout, before he had even come near them, he had been apprehended. A sword was laid against the bare skin of his neck, more archers had their arrows on him, and Robin already knew their thoughts.

The king had sentenced all of them to death earlier that day. The last that had been seen of them had been being tied to posts in the desert. And now they were here, free of their confines and the king was unresponsive on the ground, and the only ones to witness what had happened had been those who had first had been condemned. No amount of words would convince them differently, and so Robin gave the order for his men to flee. They had protested at first, but as the soldiers bore down on them they had listened. Separated as they were, it had been easy to do, but Robin could remember well how the crusaders had followed. Even now, he did not know if they were still alive.

Robin had been taken back in chains, and as the day turned to night, he found himself here. He had once stood on the other side of this very tent, keeping guard of prisoners taken during war. Most found their deaths shortly after, and Robin knew it was only a matter of time before he found the same. To betray your king was a grave offense, to try and kill him, even worse. It did not matter that he was free of guilt; what these men had last heard had been accusations of betrayal by the king himself. Now there was the chance the king was dead, or ill enough that he could not speak. For if he had been able to, Robin knew he would no longer be here.

Then there was Marian. He had only been able to watch as she was cut down, the sword passing through her body, the blood coloring the sand below her form. Robin had not been able to reach her, had not been able to see if she still drew breath. It wasn't very probably, not with such a wound, and without anyone to see to her…and if the crusaders thought her to be among them, part of the reason to the king's injuries, there was the chance they had even finished her off.

Robin choked back a sob at the thought. They were trained men, and he was praying with all his might that they had shown mercy. She was a woman, and he knew the men were not cruel, but in war gender and station did not matter when it came to guilt and blame. They were doing as they had been trained, as they had pledged to do, but the thought hurt more than any wound that could be administered.

He heard the shifting, the flap of the tent drawn back, but Robin did not look. The crusaders were only making rounds, making sure he was still confined. Another hour had passed, and his time here was drawing to an end. The penalty for treason, he knew, was death. A most gruesome, brutal death. Nothing would protect him from that, unless by chance the king lived, and spoke of the falsehood before the morning hour came. Possible? Yes, but not very probable. The arrow the man had taken had not killed him outright, but it had been close enough that it could still be fatal. If he had not bled out, infection was the second gravest worry.

No one had answered his questions. They were not obliged to, Robin knew. But having fought with more than half of these men, he had expected them to extend that smallest of courtesies. Silence was the only thing he had received in return. So he had no knowledge as to the king, to Marian, or even his own men. The order had been given to find them, to shoot on sight. In a desert, an open and unfamiliar land to the lads, Robin knew they did not stand much of a chance.

"Robin?"

The voice he recognized, but it took him a moment to place who it was. Even after he knew, Robin still did not move. They would not answer his questions, and so he had no reason to speak with them. Perhaps they did not even care to converse, but rather wanted to check to see that he was still in the land of living. Prisoners here had taken their own life before; Robin had seen it happen more than once.

"I know you can hear me."

Robin lifted his head ever so slightly, eyes peering above his arms to catch the figure in the dark. He had fought alongside the man many times before; they had shared the same amount of trials, spilled the same amount of blood, and faced the same demons. Roger was a good warrior, a strong leader, and had once been a good friend. But now he stood at the front of the tent, watching him with eyes that bore a mixture of emotions. Anger, resentment, betrayal.

Robin could not blame him. Though he was free from guilt, that truth was only known by a few; a few that were either dying, or as good as dead anyway. Roger only had his thoughts, and Robin knew which they were. They were the same ones Robin had felt when he had first learnt of betrayal inside his gang. The same anger he had felt when he had confronted Allan. The only difference now was that one was true, the other, a falsehood.

"Answer me one question. Why?"

He gave no verbal response. His silence worked as well as theirs; if they would not answer him, he would not return the favor. Robin laid his head back down, his thoughts occupying him, the only comfort he held. The other would leave soon enough once he realized this conversation would not take place.

"I thought I knew you," Roger continued. There was something in his voice, perhaps the subtlest hint that there was still disbelief. Robin met his gaze again, but while his voice betrayed his uncertainty, his eyes did not. There was pain there, and the man was struggling to keep himself together.

"You were one of the best warriors, the king's favorite. He loved you more than anyone, and this is how you repay him?"

"I did not do it," Robin spat out the words. It would not help him; he had already claimed innocence, but his pleas had fallen on deaf ears. It would be no different here.

"Still you deny it?" the man shook his head, letting out a sigh. "We are so close to finding peace. The king was meeting with Saladin today, he was going to make peace, put an end to this bloody war."

"It was not Saladin," he corrected the other. "It was a plot to kill the king."

"Yes," Roger agreed quietly, much to Robin's surprise. He was confused, but the confusion slowly melted into despair at the next words. "A plot by you."

"No-"

"The king already sentenced you, and the others. We have spies everywhere; you know this better than anyone. And the king knew you had come to kill him. He showed you mercy when he shouldn't have."

"The king was deceived-"

"By you," Roger cut him again. "And tomorrow you will pay for it. So answer me now; why?"

Robin shook his head, the utterly helpless feeling growing. Not even an old friend believed his words. "What difference does it make if I am to die in the morning? What will it change?"

"Nothing," came the quiet reply. "Other than the fact you might die free of confession."

A confession. So he wanted to hear a confession. Robin pursed his lips, his voice just a quiet as he answered. "Every word, I have said, has been true. And you will carry that knowledge and guilt with you, long after I am dead."

If his words reached him Robin could not say. The man stood, holding his gaze without so much a waver, before he turned and disappeared. He was alone once more, but Robin knew it would not last long. At morning he would be brought to judgment, his sentence would be given, and he would die. And everything he wanted to know would be lost to him, as well as everything he had ever fought for.

* * *

They had been running for most of the evening. The desert was unlike the forest. It was open, it was bare, sparing not even a shadow for them to hide in. Djaq had taken the lead, and they had all followed without question. This was her homeland, and she would know it better than anyone. But that still did not take them away from their pursuers. They could not outrun horses, steeds bred for war. It left them dodging, crossing the land in a jagged pattern, confusing the animals. The tactic had worked, for a time.

Arrows had rained down when the warriors grew frustrated. It gave them time to put some distance between them. The deadly projectiles fell down on them, smacking into the sand with a solid thunk, grazing their skin as their aim improved. Then Allan fell, an arrow taken up high in his thigh. There was a cry from him, and Will turned, reaching out a hand. He was quick in pulling the other up, pulling Allan behind him as he continued to run, his pace never slowing.

This, was madness. Earlier in the day they had arrived here to warn King Richard. As a simple peasant, Will had never thought he would ever meet the king. That was something for the lords, for nobles, not the likes of him. Yet he had traveled thousands of miles with Robin to bring news of the sheriff's betrayal. And for it they had been strung up in the desert and left to die.

Robin's loyalty was infamous. He would not doubt the king, even when facing his own death. Robin had insisted the king had been tricked. Will knew that the man had been, but he also knew the man was foolish to believe such a lie when he had no proof. It was as foolish as claiming innocence from executing them when leaving them to succumb to the heat. If it had not been for Carter, they would have died. Now they still might.

For the first time since taking flight, they were able to rest. And not a moment too soon. They were shambles of a city, one that was perhaps once been proud. Will pressed himself flat against the wall, letting go of Allan as the man collapsed to the ground near him, holding his leg as a groan escaped him. Djaq was quick in warning him, the man biting his lip to try and keep the pain at bay.

There were shouts, orders to find them. The horses were tiring, the sand difficult for them to race in, and the heat not providing any help. Will knew they were just as worn. If they were discovered, they could not keep it up. If these were men fighting for the king, or allaying themselves with the sheriff and Prince John, he did not know. It did not matter, he supposed. They were desperate to see them killed. Will listened with bated breath, letting the air from his lungs in one long sigh when he heard their retreating forms. They had given up, for now.

Djaq had dropped to her knees, hands moving to see to Allan who was still in pain. The arrow was still there, broken off near the skin from the fall he had taken. How severe the wound was, he could not say. It was a bitter thought, and Will knew Allan was not the first to be wounded that day.

First Carter…then the king…and Marian. And when they had last seen Robin, he had been held at sword point, a hostage among the very men who should be his allies. If any of them still lived it would be a miracle. Will had been among one of the few that had argued with Robin's order to retreat. Much had also been adamant about staying. But it had been John who had prompted them to run, pushing them into the alleyways. Even though he knew now they had been right in running, he still felt guilty. They had abandoned their leader, had left him to whatever mercy would befall him. If the King died…Will already knew what fate would greet Robin.

"We have to go back." Much's voice was quiet, but there was strength behind it. Determination. Will felt himself nodding. He had already thought of the same. But could they do it?

Could they manage to track their way back, unnoticed, and slip through a heavily trained regiment? These were not castle guards they would be dealing with. They were the King's Private Guard, many of the men were as skilled as Robin. Will could even imagine that Robin had trained some of them.

"We need somewhere safe first," Djaq spoke, nodding to Allan. Will knew that to be true as well. There was no way to treat the man's wound here. And they all needed substance; they needed preparation, a plan.

"There isn't time!" Much stressed. The man gripped his sword, pulling it free of its scabbard, holding it to one side. Another truth. But they could not do everything at once. If the crusaders had not acted already, then they soon would. They could not afford to wait if there was any hope in rescuing Robin.

"Being honest here," Allan gritted through his teeth as Djaq wove a bit of cloth around the wound, "but Robin was left with the king, right? The king will vouch for him. And when he does, he'll send someone to find us. Right now they're just following orders, thinking we tried to hurt the king and all. They'll find out they're wrong."

"If the king vouches for him," Will pointed out.

"What do you mean if?" Much spouted out. "Of course the king will vouch for him. Robin saved his life, well, tried, at least. So the sheriff shot him, that wasn't our fault, we tried-"

"He may already be dead," Djaq cut off the other man. If she was referring to the king, or Robin, or both even, Will did not know. If the king was still alive, then Robin would be. If the crusaders hadn't killed the man without hesitation, that was. They had certainly seemed keen on killing all of them without waiting for an order.

"They wouldn't," Much began to argue, but he fell silent a moment later. He knew the truth as well as anyone else there. Already they had been sentenced to their deaths; there was no question if it would happen again. "But we can't give up."

The man's voice was nearly breaking, a hidden plea residing in his words. Much would give his life for Robin; but it seemed as though the opposite had happened here. Will felt himself swallow, battling the guilt. Robin always gave too much. They would die, he knew, if they went back. And the chances of finding Robin, of the man still being alive were slim. The only hope was with the king, and even that seemed grim. But Much was right. They couldn't give up. They were already dead men; the very least they could do was try.

"Djaq? Can you and Allan make it back to Bassam's?"

Bassam was a friend of hers. He had given them all shelter the night before. It was his pigeon that had been carried to England, his pigeon that had carried the first note back in order to warn the king about the plot to remove the man from the throne. If they could find shelter anywhere in this foreign land, it was with him.

Allan already looked desperate at that question. It was still a few hours away, perhaps longer with his injury. Will turned to John, the man nodding, already understanding the unasked question. He would help them get there. Will turned to Much then, letting out a sigh.

"We may not like what we find."

"We may not even come back," Much answered. So the risks were known, among all of them. Will turned then to look at Djaq, a feeling of pain coming over him. They had only just confessed their feelings to one another a short time ago. And now they were to part, perhaps to never see each other again. But Will knew there could be no peace, no happiness, until things were sorted out. Djaq, he knew, could understand the same.

He drew her into a hug, holding her as though it would be the last time. He knew with the odds that lay before them that it was more in likely. What was planned was more or less suicide, but there was no arguing among them. They parted with a kiss, hands still touching before drawing away completely.

"Be careful," she whispered, and he nodded, encouraging her to do the same. While he knew that he and Much would meet their maker, he was satisfied with the knowledge that she alone would be safe. Bassam, he knew, would never let any harm come to her. The thought gave him a smile as he turned away, allowing Much to take the lead.

They were weary, tired beyond comprehension, and utterly sick to the pits of their stomachs. But Will knew that no force on this earth would stop Much from going back to Robin. And he was glad to be a part of it. However it might end.

**TBC**


	2. Loyalty

**I'll admit that the idea has been stuck in my head for a while, but more so that I'm simply having too much fun writing this. Pretty sure Kegel can vouch for that, as well as the beta she did for this final version of this particular chapter :D**

**Onwards to chapter two!**

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**Chapter Two: **Loyalty

Roger wasn't his only visitor that night. Sometime after the man had left, Robin felt himself drifting. He was not quite asleep, but not lucid enough to really say he was still awake. The touch startled him, mostly because he had not heard the lifting of the flap, or the shifting of sand beneath the steps. Even then, he wondered if it was some sort of dream. He met the gaze of the other, confused, but before he could speak the other had a finger to his lips, cautioning silence as he nodded back towards the front of the tent. Robin understood quickly; the guards were right outside.

"You shouldn't be here," Robin whispered, his voice hardly audible, and yet somehow feeling still all too loud.

"You knew we would come back," Will answered just as softly. Robin knew that part to be true; he had failed in convincing himself otherwise somewhere throughout the night. But a part of him had hoped they wouldn't be this foolish. The man reached for him, fingers just as cold as his as he turned Robin's hands palm-up, studying the locks in what little light they had.

"What of the others?" he breathed. Part of him feared the answer. But he had to know. He had heard talk, the guards just outside his tent conversing in the early hours of twilight. On how the traitorous men had been shot down.

"Bassam's," came the soft reply. Will was tracing the lock with his finger, trying to gain a better idea on how to break it. Robin pulled away from him, the chains clinking against each other as he folded them across his knees once more, ignoring Will's frustration.

"Everyone?"

"Well, Much is…" he fell silent as the angry cries sounded, shrieks of horses carrying through the night. Robin could swear he heard the other man laugh, as though he was appreciating a joke. "That's Much. We don't have a lot of time," he was moving again. But Robin shook his head, pulling away from the other. The frustration was far clearer now than it had been before. "Robin…"

"You're right. We don't have a lot of time."

"Then let me do this."

"I cannot just leave," he pointed out quickly. The commotion was still apparent, the guards near his tent having pulled away to see what it was all about. Even still he kept his voice low. "If I leave now, it only proves my guilt."

"You can't stay." The man was crouched in front of him, eye-level, but he hadn't tried to pull at his arms again. "We can get you out of here, buy you some time until the king can speak for you-"

"_If_ the king can," Robin cut him off, stressing that point. "Even if he lives now, if he were to die in accordance with my absence, the blame will rest with me. No matter if the truth was later discovered."

"Then there is no reason for you to stay," the man argued. "What good would it do for you to die? If you are right, and our king is dead, then England is under threat from Prince John and the sheriff and the Black Knights. _We _need you back home. Not here defending your honor."

"Honor has nothing to do with it," he shook his head, flustered. Why couldn't he understand?

"Robin, if the king-"

"I am a marked man," he cut Will off, coming to a pause himself. When he started again his voice was quieter, not wishing to draw any unwanted attention. "I trained most of these men here. If I were to leave they would never stop searching for me. Every noble, every crusader returning home from war, every peasant back home would know who I was, and what I had done. And sooner or later I would be found, and everyone I cared about, would share in my punishment. Tell me; what good would that do England, or anyone for that matter?"

"So you would rather have us leave you to your death? After all we've done-"

"You let me do this," Robin nodded towards him. He could see the anguish in the other's face, could feel almost the same helplessness that resided there. "My death will buy you time. Find the others, go back to England. If you are right, and the king is dead, then the people there will need protection from the prince and the knights. That is not something I can offer them anymore; but you and the others can."

"I won't leave you, Robin."

"You must. If there is to be any hope. Allow me that single thought, so that I might have some peace."

He had hoped the other would listen, that the other would finally give in. The silence that stretched between them suggested as much. But Will was shaking his head.

"We came into this together, we will leave together. Whatever fate might await us. We are Robin Hood."

"We are," Robin agreed quietly. It was an odd irony that the name given to him when he was to first hang was the name that ended up bringing people hope and comfort. Now it seemed as though he would finally live up to that reputation. "You are Robin Hood; and the people of England need you more than ever. Now go, while you still have time."

"Robin-"

"Go, before I call for the guard."

"You wouldn't," Will responded quietly, but there was a tentative question hanging at the end. Robin knew the man had seen his fair share of ludicrous plans before. Robin responded with a grin, feeling, if only momentarily, the misplaced humor he once used to have.

"Try me."

The guards were still far enough away; the commotion had died down some, but the excitement was easy to taste in the air. They would not be pulled away so easily, but if alerted otherwise, Robin knew there would be enough time. Enough time for one man to slip free unnoticed. And he could see Will struggling to make a decision. So Robin made it for him.

"Guard?!"

He heard the other man curse, moving now with heightened speed. Will was across the tent, slipping through the open hole he had made earlier in the back of the tent. Robin allowed himself a smile, having wondered before how the man had come in undetected. Now he knew; but that simple pleasure didn't last long.

The front of the tent was drawn back, one irritated guard meeting his gaze. The man had a deep frown; a man that Robin couldn't rightly identify. "What is all the commotion about?"

"That is not of your concern."

Robin had not expected an answer. The question was there merely for cover, to give Will the time needed to slip away. It was then he found himself praying, something he had failed to do as of late. But now he was hoping that if there was a God, that He would see his men through, and safely back to England, instead of coming back for him. The trails that awaited him in the morning were his to face alone. His men had a different fate, and it no longer coincided with his.

* * *

He would not be able to walk so easily right away. The head of the arrow had buried itself deep into the back of his thigh, tearing through skin and muscle, nicking the bone. It had been difficult to remove, had caused the man a great deal of pain, but out here, in a land she once called home, she did not have the necessary herbs to give him. Bassam had but a few which were simpler, milder versions, and though Allan took them without complaint she still knew the pain that he was in.

When they had first shown up here, Bassam had been indifferent. The man she thought of like a father, had been like one much considering how often she had spent her childhood looking in at the pigeons, creating names for them, and trying, often unsuccessfully, to sneak them treats. She could see in his eyes that the problem came not in only sheltering her, but the others. He had done so the night before, but that was when they did not have half the King's Private Guard after them.

But Bassam was a kind man, and even though it gave him risk, he would not turn her out. And Bassam knew that she would not stay without the others. So they were taken inside, led to a room in the back. This room she knew. Her brother had been the first to find it, as often as he had gotten into trouble. Djaq had mimicked him, followed him around, acted like a shadow. Most times it irritated him, but his angry words never put her off.

When the room had been found, it had been a marvelous secret. There had been long, sleepless nights, whispers echoing between them of stories, of adventures, of reasons why it existed. Most were far-fetched, others entirely impossible, but it had been a source of entertainment for them both. It was a rather odd disappointment to learn it had simply been a store room, a place where feed was kept for the marvelous birds until a more permanent store was made. Now it was a forgotten room, walled up in front so that the entrance would not betray the old remnants still existed.

It was the hardest for John. The man could not stand fully without his head brushing against the top, but the ground did not offer any better comfort. The only ledge had been changed into a makeshift bed, Allan now occupying that space as he slept fitfully. She could have sworn she remembered this room being bigger, but back then she had been a lot smaller. The thought gave her a brief smile, but it didn't last long.

She knew, and understood Will's reasoning for going back. They all would have done the same had Allan not taken injury. Even so, she couldn't help but feel anger at the thought, a selfish emotion creeping through her form. She would give anything to see the man here, even having gone as far as wishing it had been Will who had taken the arrow, as opposed to Allan. Then at least he would be safe.

Bassam, she knew, had seen right through them. He had known most of her secrets, ever since she was a little girl, and she believed that he could see right into people's souls. That was how he knew what was happening, and knew what they thought, and felt. She never had to ask for his blessing, but he gave it freely, lifting a weight from her shoulders she hadn't even known was there. There had been thoughts, for a short time, of what it would be like to live a life together. Now she found herself wondering if that would ever come to be.

There was no argument when she left the two men behind. Voices were now filling the outer hall, and had it been any crusaders, Djaq knew her presence would be the easiest to explain. She had donned a simple serf's dress, a shawl wrapped over her face so that only her eyes were seen. A bowl in her hand as she padded forward carefully to see who it was. But she hadn't needed to see them; she could hear them well enough now. Her disguise was dropped, both shawl and bowl as it was no longer needed, a smile on her face instead.

Will drew her into a hug, but there was a lack of emotion behind it, and she could see immediately why. When there should have been three of them, there were only two. She searched his face for answers, but it revealed nothing and so she found herself asking.

"Robin?"

"He has a plan," Much was the one to answer her question. He was adamant, and that gave her some hope. "He wants us to wait here, you know, so that we're not found. Right, Will?"

"Yeah," the other man nodded, but there was something in his expression, the lack in his tone that confused her.

"Robin is still there?"

"He's fine there, I mean, he's tied up, but that's because of all the confusion and everything. The king will be able to clear things up, and Robin will be fine. It's just all of us…that need to be careful."

Something about it sounded strange. Robin would have privilege over them, certainly, considering his status with the king. How well that was benefiting him now she wasn't certain, the knowledge that the king had taken an arrow wound entering her mind. It was apparent he had yet to speak, and she could only imagine to what fate Robin had been left to. They themselves had been chased and fired upon, but at least they were safe. Could the same be said for the other man?

Will pulled away from her then, something muttered about being tired and thirsty. She let him go, but a worry was setting inside of her even more. Her thoughts were distracted then, Much asking after the others and with a nod she led them to the room they were being kept. More questions were asked, the same answer coming, and Djaq left the trio there, pulling away to find where the other had gone.

He was sitting on the edge of a cushion, giving no response as she moved near him. Bassam, she knew, was out in the other room, perhaps keeping a watchful eye on them. If there was any trouble about, he would give the warning, and Djaq knew the two of them could disappear without much worry.

"What is Robin's plan?" When he didn't answer it only served to answer her original thought. "So there is no plan."

"There is," he said softly, turning to her just then. The pain was clear on his face; the look in his eyes was as though he had just committed some sort of grave betrayal.

"Then what Much said?"

"I did not know how else to get him to follow," he confessed quietly. "I do not know how I am to explain. Robin would not listen to reason, but I know he'll blame me. I shouldn't have left him."

"Then he is alive."

"For now."

"The king will speak for him," she encouraged him.

"Robin does not know if he even lives," he explained quietly, turning to face her. It was then she understood, letting out a pained breath as things came to light.

"Then no one can speak for him…"

"I was able to get to him; I was there, I could have gotten him out," he held out his hands, shaking his head, fingers closing in empty air. With a sigh he laid them on his lap, closing his eyes. "Robin would not let me help him."

This sounded like Robin. Proud, arrogant, and foolish. A man who pretended as though nothing could hurt him. A man who was loyal to his king, even in death. It was admirable, but incessantly foolish.

"Then we go back for him," she prompted. Before they had split up for Allan's safety. Now that he was here, there would be no worry. The rest could return, and together they would somehow manage to free him. If Will had gotten to Robin before, he could do so again.

"They are on high-alert," he answered softly. "The distraction we made got us in, but we were barely able to get out. I do not think…"

He trailed off, shaking his head. There was a play of emotions seen in his features, from fear and betrayal, to disbelief and uncertainty. But overshadowing them all was the obvious fatigue. The last weeks of travel had been hard on them, more so than life in the forest, and the desert, she knew, was unforgiving to those who were not used to it. Will was no different, and they all would benefit from the rest.

"Then we give them time to quiet down," she pressed. "They have yet to do anything, and so they will wait the night. In the morning we will go again, and we will rescue him."

"He will not listen-"

"Then we must make him."

He held her gaze, seeming unsure, but then gave in with a nod. Will would find no inner peace unless they tried, and Much, she knew, would never forgive any of them if they simply let the man die. Though they might all face their fate in the end, it was for a cause that was bigger than all of them.

**TBC**


	3. Treason

**Thanks to Kegel for the beta! **

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**Chapter Three: Treason **

They came for him in the morning. Robin had come close to nodding off again after Will had gone, but his mind never allowed him to find rest. He was flanked by two men, both of which pulled him along as he stumbled, trying to will his legs to move and support his weight. More than once he had fallen, knees digging into the sand before he was pulled back to his feet. The long, cold night had sapped most of his strength, and the position he had been forced to stay in had caused his muscles to cramp. It was almost a relief when they finally stopped, and Robin fell back to his knees.

His hands had been bound behind him before even leaving the tent, another length of rope was tied about his ankles to prevent him from running. The thought was laughable; even if Robin had had half a mind to run, he wouldn't have been able to. It was not even yet noon, but already the day was warm, and it had been a drastic change to leave the shade of the tent. Out here he was open, exposed and vulnerable, surrounded by men he had both trained, and fought alongside of. Now he was the enemy, the apprehension creeping into the back of his mind. Even those he had once considered friends, such as Roger, bore a mixture of emotions. Some of disbelief, others of anger. Those emotions he had already felt, had already seen before. They were nothing new, but it didn't make them any less real.

Robin let it go as well as he could, taking in his surroundings. He searched first for the king, but there was no sign of the man. So it was as he had first assumed, but there was always hope that he was wrong. Now was the question of how severe things were. Was the king in fact dead? Or wounded to the point he was unaware of what transpired about him? The simple thought gave him cause to despair, but he wouldn't allow it to take over completely, knowing that things would not get any better from here. He held his head high, searching the rest of the crowd.

Joseph Gael was at the forefront of the group, the captain of the guards, the man who stood in the king's place should something happen to him. Something had happened, Robin knew, as well as he knew that he himself was at no fault. But he doubted the others would see it in the same light, not by the expressions in the gazes of those he met.

"Robin," Joesph greeted him in a formal tone, as though they were casually meeting in passing. Robin returned it in much the same manner. They might hold him at fault, but Robin knew that whatever happened here, the would face it without fear or degradation.

"Where is the king?"

The man ignored his question, turning instead to other matters. It was as though he were managing a negotiation, his voice firm but gentle. "These are hard times, I'm sure you know. What with the war, and the Black Knights, as well as traitors in our midst, there are those who would want to see the king dead."

"Yes," Robin answered with a firm nod, hardly affected by the words. He knew that they were meant for him, but he didn't let that show. "There are. Which is why I came here in the first place; to save our king."

"And the same thing could have been accomplished back in England, could it not?"

This was a fault King Richard had pointed out before. There had never been a chance to explain. Much had tried, bless him, but Robin knew well enough when to speak his mind or still his tongue. At this moment, it was the former. He doubted there would be a second chance to do so.

"The prince, it seems, has an accord with the sheriff, that honors his protection while residing in Nottinghamshire. The death of innocents in exchange for the life of one man is not a fair bargain."

"This is war, Robin. Innocents die each and every day. Your scrupulosity has no bearing on this," Joseph cautioned him. He was a fighter, a man that led the front ranks alongside the king. And it showed. But Robin had been a leader, too, had fought alongside the king just as well. He was not easily cowed.

"Well, it seems as though someone has to be conscionable. If neither the sheriff, nor the prince do so, then what does that tell you?"

"It tells me that you allowed the enemy to grow. Instead of taking them down when you had the chance, you gave them time to gather allies, to strengthen themselves, and allowed them to come this far as they would kill our king."

That was something he could not argue about. The war had drained him, the blood of hundreds of men forever resting on his conscience. He could not kill upon his return, and Robin had allowed himself to be fooled into thinking it was for the greater good. He had told himself that innocents would suffer if the sheriff were to die in their village. Had told himself that a worse grievance would come to take place if he had shot the man down.

But it wasn't until near a year after his return that the pact had been made, and that the truth about the taxes came to light. The army of mercenaries, the Black Knights; a single arrow would have not solved that problem, he knew, but it would have caused disorder and disarray, it would have given them more time. But only at the cost of innocent lives, people who had nothing to do with this futile war. That was something he could not allow, no matter what else was said by others.

"It is often said that war can turn minds," Joseph was speaking again, not just to him, but to everyone, pointing out his flaws. Crusader sickness, it had been seen often enough while he had still been here, and even back in England. And though Robin knew that the war was to blame for some of his actions, it had not caused him to go mad. Yet Joseph apparently disagreed.

"We've all seen what war can do to a man. The demons we carry affect us all differently. This does not dispel what he has done, keep that in mind. It only goes to show that anyone can be our enemy, even those we least expect."

"I did not do it," Robin stated firmly. He had his faults, had made his mistakes, but this was something else entirely. True, he had done wrong, and things would be different had he acted sooner, but that time had already come and gone, and they were instances that could not be undone. "If I am to be blamed of anything, then it is the fact that I was foolish enough to believe that some things could be solved without bloodshed."

"Enough lies, Robin. You are aware, as any man here, that we have spies who work for us. Did you honestly think that you would not be found out? The king knew even before you arrived that he would be betrayed by someone. None of us expected it would be you, however. We all know that you were sent home from the war with honors from the king. So it wasn't a wonder why, when he needed more reinforcements, that he sent for you to return. And yet you did not; I can only wonder why."

"King Richard did not know what was going on in England at that time, I could not just abandon the people there."

"Yet you left them now," Joseph pointed out. "We were warned that the king was to be betrayed, and then shortly after, you arrived. And then you were sentenced, were you not?"

Robin gave a single, solitary nod. Someone had fed the king false information, had framed Robin for the very same crime they had tried to commit. The king had been angry, and rightly so if the rumor had been true. Yet he doubted the man was waiting for a confirmation, for he hadn't even stopped speaking.

"Yet you somehow managed to slip free of your binds. We should have known you had a contact on the inside. You would have not come all this way to face the chance of failure. I find it strange, don't you, that Carter's disappearance took place shortly after King Richard set forth to meet with Saladin? After you had been sentenced; it seems that he has fled as well. Perhaps he went back to England; he did that once before."

This earned a scoff from him. It was a strange fact for him to learn that the others did not know what had already transpired. "It may surprise you to learn that he is dead." The words were angry, fueled by the disrespect shown to a man who had given his life for the king.

"Ah, ridding yourself of the loose ends? They can't accuse you if they are dead."

"And for what reason would I have to kill the man who freed us?"

Joseph gave a shrug, either due to indifference or simply not knowing, Robin could not say. "He outlived his usefulness. Or so you thought; you didn't anticipate being caught again. But now that you are, there is no one here that will speak for you."

Robin found himself shaking his head, unnerved by the fact they were dishonoring a man who deserved a hero's death. Carter had no intentions of returning to fight when he came here. It was only to carry the message that desperately needed to reach the king. Yet he had somehow stayed, explaining to Robin that he was fighting for peace. Perhaps it was his way of honoring his brother's memory, a more proper way than he had tried to do so before. Carter, like Robin, had held flaws in his past that could not be changed. But now it seemed as though his noble efforts had accomplished nothing save to tarnish his name, and garner ill-respect from the others for who he was. Robin knew that he would follow in a similar manner, and the thought sickened him. These were not the men he had known, they were not the crusaders he had fought alongside with for five long years.

"If I recall correctly, it was you who sent Carter back here. He came bearing a message for the king; told us all about the Black Knights, the mercenaries. Now tell me, how much of that was a lie?"

"None," Robin answered quickly, raising his head to meet the other's gaze. Surely they would not disregard this knowledge as well. They were fools to do so; it was no secret that Prince John was vying for the throne, and that it could not be his to claim without Richard's death. It was also known that the prince had somehow taken hold of the land in the king's absence. The taxes had not been raised for the king's war; it had been for the Black Knights, the traitor's pact, and the mercenaries. They could believe Robin a killer, had perhaps a right to even think so, given the circumstances, but it was folly to turn a blind eye to the rising problems back home.

"It seems to me rather elaborate to go to such lengths, when killing one man is quite simple," Joseph continued. "These were nothing more than stories, something to put him on edge, to distract him. Then they send a man who has the ability to get close to the king. Someone who would offer protection from all these stories. They sent you, the man who once saved his king's life. No doubt he would trust you more than the rest of us; he owed you a debt, and for that you meant to kill him."

"No," Robin shook his head. This was starting to get tiresome, but he doubted his opinion mattered here. They already had their minds set on what had happened, and he was to carry the blame despite the truth.

"Betraying your king is treason," Joseph ignored him. "For taking his life, it is high treason. I assume you know what the punishment is?"

He knew, but he did not answer. This was what he had been fearing throughout the night, and now was only starting to wonder if he should have taken up Will's offer of escape. But that would have been futile, he knew. He would have been hunted down, eventually found, and would have faced it in the end. The difference here, was the fact his demise would be noble, as much as it could be. And more so that the others were safe, and that the people of England would still have some hope, however small it would be.

"Take him away; he will hang at high noon, be drawn and quartered, and buried in an unmarked grave. He is nothing, and no one to us anymore."

Robin held his gaze, even as he was brought to his feet. He had always known that one day his luck would run out, and that his manner of death, especially if involved with the Sheriff of Nottingham, would not be pleasant. But for all the hangings, and the cruelties the man had shown to others throughout the years, they seemed almost inviting now. And while he was to die here, the sheriff, and Guy of Gisborne, would continue to run free. He feared that there was little that could be done to stop them now.

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To say that he wasn't afraid would have been a lie. There always had been fear, but for the most part it had coincided with the thrill, the feel of adrenaline pumping through his body. That came mostly from the knowledge that what he was about to do would benefit someone in the end. Here it felt as though nothing would be accomplished, and his death would come from allies, as opposed to enemies.

The last few hours were spent in a state of worry; each unfamiliar sound reached his ears with the hope that it would be his friends. Though he had told them to leave, Robin had an uncanny feeling they would not obey. He was torn in half, both wanting them to heed his earlier wishes, and yet wanting them to come back for him. His mind was empty, with little hope and no plan on how he would escape this time. And he was starting to accept the fact that his time had run out.

So when they came for him again, he met their gazes without hesitation. He could not mask all the fear, his heart pounding in his chest as he was pulled to his feet for the last time. Roger was leading the men, a solemn look on his face as they crossed the encampment, leaving it behind as they climbed a low-sloping hill. A makeshift gallow had been erected here, the rope hanging still in the quiet air. It only served to heighten his fear. Having to hear about it was one thing, but seeing it made it all the more real.

"You can still stop this," Robin found himself saying the words, though he wasn't sure what they would achieve. Part of him felt that he could not go without a fight, however futile it was. He wondered if it had been the look he had seen in Roger's eyes before, the troubling look the man had held. But Roger was shaking his head, his voice quiet, maybe even a little remorseful.

"You know I cannot do that."

That much was true, he knew. The man was only following orders given to him, and though the night before Roger had been furious with him, he seemed as though he now was…detached. As though something had changed. But then having to witness any man die in such a fashion, especial one that you knew, was not an easy task. That was why he had saved those men back in Nottingham. Robin believed he would have still done the same had it been men he did not know, but the simple fact they had been Dan's children was the main reason that swayed him. It was something he did not regret even to this day, despite where it had led him.

With hands secured behind his back he was forced in front of the structure, the noose brought over his head and tightened so that he would not slip free. The rope was coarse, digging into his skin, a prelude to what it was about to do. The memories of the hanging back in Nottingham returned, Robin feeling perhaps the same fear that Will and the others had endured as their sentencing had been read, having nothing to do other than to wait for the drop that would claim their lives.

This would not claim his, he knew. The sentence of hanging would last only until he was nearly dead, as was custom to the punishment bestowed on him. Robin had never witnessed such before, but had heard enough tales of the gruesome method to know how things would take place. There was the smallest hint of gratitude, the simple fact that all of this was to take place away from the camp, and from the eyes of all those who were there. That made his death perhaps a little more dignified. The thought was amusing, but hardly so.

To his side Roger still stood, watching as Joseph checked the ropes one final time. Robin had already seen what they intended; the rope looped over the high bit of wood, coming down the backside so that when pulled he would be lifted. There would be no drop, and therefore no hope of a broken neck to end things quickly.

"Maybe we should wait."

The comment surprised him, as well as drew a scoff from Joseph who stepped back to Roger's side. "The longer we wait, the more risk there is that someone will come for him. I will not risk him escaping again."

"But what if we are wrong…"

"As you are," Robin had managed to find his voice again, had been able to squeak those few words out. Already he could hardly breathe, and things were not going to improve anytime soon.

"We aren't," Joseph stated firmly.

"We should wait to hear from the king," Roger argued, his voice low. "If we _are _right, then it changes nothing. But if we are wrong…"

He hadn't paid much attention to what was said then. Robin had focused entirely on what was said before. The hope that had fled him so quickly before was now back, an unseen burden lifting from him. "So the king does live?"

"Yes," Joseph answered in irritation, as though it had caused him great displeasure for that fact to be known. "And so you will die knowing that your attempt has failed."

Robin could feel himself smile. If the king was still alive, then there was hope. Not for him, he knew, but instead for England, for his men, and for the people they all had left behind. His reaction, no doubt, provoked wonder among the pair, but he didn't acknowledge their surprise. The rope behind him was pulled taunt, Robin moving to his toes to try and compensate. It hadn't lifted him full off the ground, but the position was not comforting in the least.

"You do not have to stay," Joseph told the other man, as if trying to give him some sort of comfort. Roger seemed to consider it, then he nodded, turning to leave without another word. It left the two of them, a third man who he could not be seen behind them, manning the rope.

"So this is how it ends," the man nodded to him once the other had departed. There was an expression on his face Robin could not place, something he had seen before but hadn't been able to figure out.

"The king lives, that is all I care about," Robin answered, trying to keep his voice firm. "You will learn of your mistakes after, and I can only hope he shows you mercy."

"It is not a mistake," Joseph answered. "The king lives; for now. Which is why it will be so tragic when his wound takes infection, and he dies from a fever. We have been waiting so long for something like this, but it is not easy to find a way to murder your king without drawing suspicion."

Robin could feel his heart skip a beat, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to process what was just said. A moment later he could feel his blood run cold, his eyes fixating on the small bit of metal that was pulled from the other man's pocket.

"Of course, we do have you to thank for it all; you gave us the perfect opportunity."

"How many others have been bought by the sheriff?" Robin demanded, struggling now to try and free himself. There was little hope, his hands were bound far too tight, and he was only making things worse, the sand parting beneath his feet and forcing his weight all on the noose.

"The king is weak," Joseph shook his head, "and soon he will be dead. And so will you."

The nod was giving, even before he could retaliate, before he could say another word or even think to try and call for help. Even if he had it wouldn't have mattered; they were too far from the encampment, and anyone hearing his cries would have assumed they were nothing more than a terrified man facing his end. And he was beyond terrified.

He found himself hanging, suspended in mid air, kicking out with both legs to try and find a hold so that he could support himself. He could feel the tips of his boots scrape the ground, could feel the sand shifting underneath him, as if mocking the fact he was so close to finding a reprieve from his torture. His heart raced in his chest, his lungs holding onto what little air he had managed to grab, not having been able to take in a full, proper breath. And as his vision wavered, Robin could still see the man in front him. A man who had betrayed them all.

It was the last thought he had.

**TBC**


	4. Forgiveness

**And here we arrive to the next part. Many thanks to all those who reviewed, love reading your comments. Thanks also goes to Kegel for her help in this, as well as her beta. **

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**Chapter Four: Forgiveness  
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There was pain, for sure, but it was different than what he had felt before. War was not a friendly business, so it was not the first time he had been wounded. There had been cuts, scrapes, blows to the head. Some of which had left him reeling. God had seen him alive through everything thus far, and now was no different. Even though the pain was deep, limiting the movement of his arm, he was simply grateful to still be alive.

With careful movement, the King of England slowly sat up. Though memory evaded him on the events that had taken prior to his awakening, he knew full well where he was. Sometime during his lapse of consciousness his wound had been cleaned, and something, he gathered by the lingering taste, had been given for the pain. It was no wonder if that had served for part of his confusion.

It was midday, and so difficult to tell if his lapse had been for a short time, or an extended period. The last he remembered was that of being in Imuiz, of being pursued… slowly Richard shook his head, trying to get the memories straight. Why had he been there?

An offering at peace…expect for that it wasn't. It had been a trick, a trap in which he had been lured out. A plot to see him dead. One that would have seen its way through had it not been for the others. Robin had always been loyal to him, so the guilt was real at the thought of what he had almost done. Carter had gone against his word, had taken it upon himself to see the men free. For that he was grateful, but Richard knew he would never be able to thank the man.

How many others had fallen in the battle? Surely they had succeeded, for why would he be here otherwise? The assassins would not leave him alive had they the chance to kill him. So Robin and the others had won, but at what price? Vaguely he could remember the maiden; the woman had not been with Robin when he first arrived, but she had been as noble and brave as the others. And she had taken injury in attempt to keep him safe. That was all he could remember, the memories melding together at that point.

"Your Majesty?"

He acknowledged the voice, meeting the gaze of the other with a nod of his own. "Roger."

"Are you well? I shall fetch the physician again, if the pain is too great."

"No need," he waved off the offer with his good hand. His other arm was tucked against his chest, secured by a length of fabric to help keep it still. This would not do well in battle, but for now it was a Godsend. "How long has it been?"

"Just a night," Roger reassured him, taking another step into the tent. There was a mark of relief on his face, the concern real. "We were lucky to come when we did; had we any idea of what was planned, we would have come sooner, perhaps avoided this altogether."

To this he nodded. With the extra men they would have victorious, no doubt. The odds had been fairly even, the reason why the men had stayed to fight. But the king knew with the extra forces, that the traitors would have been on the run. "I owe my thanks to Robin," he knew this much was true, as well as the fact that it was not the first time the man had saved his life.

He could see the other man stiffen, perhaps pale a little but it was difficult to tell in the light. "Robin? But I thought he came here to…"

"We were deceived," the king shook his head sadly. The reminder was painful; for a subject to betray a king was one thing, but for a king to betray his subject's loyalty was wholly different. Robin had granted him forgiveness, but Richard could only wonder how true that statement had been. They had been locked in battle at that point, and hardly was there a time for a deep, meaningful conversation that was rightfully deserved.

"Your Majesty, are you certain of this?" Roger's voice was quick, pressing. It was a strange thing indeed, but he forced himself to nod when he failed to find his voice. What was the man getting at?

"But he was taken captive," the other explained quickly. "We did not know; we thought-"

"What has happened?"

He was very much awake now; there was the faintest of reminders, of a memory lingering on the edge of his mind. The last he had been with his men was that morning, when he had sentenced Robin to death. From there, he had not been in any of their company. Without his word, Robin would still be considered a traitor, as were the others.

"Joseph has sentenced him to high treason; they are preparing to hang him now."

Had the man any more to say the king did not wait to hear it. There was still time if preparations were being made, and words could be saved for later. Lives, on the other hand, did not have the same luxury. Roger had followed, perhaps having the same thoughts. Already he was taking the lead, pointing in the direction of where the event was taking place. And what he saw made his blood run cold.

The body hung in the air, a silhouette against the sun; it was placed so that from this distance it could not be seen if the victim still lived, or yet had succumbed to death's embrace. They were too far to shout, to call for it to stop, but Roger was already moving.

"See that this is stopped," he called after the man even as he moved. Roger had mounted a steed and given him a nod. He himself did not slow, hurrying along as fast as his legs would carry him, as though locked in another battle. Part of him believed that it was, but instead of fighting the enemy, they were attempting to cheat death.

His eyes never left that of the post, of the body, and so it was a relief to see the rope cut. But relief was replaced with fear, fear that they were simply too late. He could only watch as the body tumbled to the sand below, unmoving, and unresponsive to the hands that grabbed at him. What were they doing now?

Roger had reached the top of the hill by that time, a little hope restored as he began to climb as well. Still there was the worry that it was not enough, that the deed had already been done. Richard knew that if this was the case, he could never allow himself forgiveness. And it was more than his recent exertion that caused his heart to beat so ferociously when he reached the top.

Robin was still bound, noose about his neck, the faintest tinge of blue on his lips. There was no indication that he still drew breath, but his body had been laid across a bit of wood resting on the sand. A few feet from where he lay was a freshly dug grave, and over him, stood Roger and Joseph, who were locked in an argument. It was his word that silenced them both.

Roger had dropped to his knees, taken a knife to severe the man's bonds, and cut free the length of rope that still enwrapped his neck. The marks there were deep, noticeable, but fingers were resting there despite the blemishes, and after what seemed like an agonizing length of time, a nod was given. Robin was still in the land of the living.

"This man is a traitor," Joseph was adamant, knife still in his own hand. To that the king could only imagine what it was intended for. A charge of high treason was a serious one indeed, but the sight only served to anger him more.

"He has my pardon, of any and all charges against him."

"Milord," the man's voice was urgent, debating. "He triedto _kill_ you. If you pardon him now, he will only try again."

"And did you happen to see this act you so strongly claim?"

His voice was tight, the anger clearly there, but Richard was trying to keep it at bay. Fury would serve no one here. After a moment, the man shook his head in answer.

"And I'm sure you gave him a fair trial," the king continued, the sullen looks on both of the men's faces an answer to that question. "Did he admit to doing any of what he had been charged with?"

"No," Joseph muttered quietly, before dutifully adding, '_milord'._ His next words were louder. "I do not see how that is relevant to anything. Guilty men do not confess to their crimes freely."

Richard met his gaze with a hard stare of his own. It was Joseph who broke first, turning away, his face burning either with shame or the heat of the sun. There was truth there, but the king allowed himself to whisper a small prayer in thanks to the simple fact the men had not gone there. What had happened was unforgiveable enough, but if they had tortured the man…

The slightest of sounds caught their attention. The groan was barely audible, the movement more noticeable as the hand reached out, fingers timidly coming to rest on his neck. No doubt it was the pain he was feeling; bruises were already starting to show. There was swelling also, the alluding reason for the harsh breaths. The few that followed were stunted, hisses of air as the man struggled to deal with pain.

"Robin?"

Bleary eyes met his, the gaze unfocused and clearly not all the way there. He had both hands pressed to his neck now, cradling the swollen flesh between his fingers as he blinked. It was shortly after that that their gazes met for the first time, confusion clearly written on the man's features. He moved to speak, his lips trying to form words, but whatever sound that followed was anything but.

Joseph's movements were not missed, Richard seeing on how the man stiffened at the simple sound. No doubt there was guilt being felt, the coming realization of what he had almost done. Robin had not moved, save for an arm that now crossed his face, shielding his eyes from the sun that bore down overhead. It was now a full day since Robin had first come, a full day in which the man more in likely neither had any food or water. And with the added complications, no doubt he was feeling quite unwell.

"Get him back to the tents," he addressed Roger this time, the man having remained quiet throughout the entire exchange. "See that he is cared for, and let him rest."

Joseph was the next man who he addressed, waiting until the man met his gaze. "You are good warrior, but your decisions are rash. Today you almost took the life of an innocent. Next time I hope you take more caution, as the responsibility you undertake will also garner unfavored consequences should you be wrong. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, milord."

His voice was sullen, but showed no argument as he watched the once condemned man be led away. Robin was again unresponsive, his weight shouldered mostly by Roger, another crusader stepping in to offer his help. The commotion had drawn a group of men, those brave enough to eavesdrop on what their king said. Even if they had heard, he still needed to speak to them all.

"Assemble the men," he directed Joseph, taking his leave down the hill and back to the encampment. "There are many things we must speak of."

* * *

Awareness was not something that had completely come to him. There were vague instances, memories almost, mingling with his dreams. There was pain, fear and anger, all emotions he knew but for some reason could not place. And there was something, he knew, something important that needed to be spoken of. But he could not remember what it was about. He almost had, once, before, when he had tried to speak of it, and bring forth the words. But too hard was it to try and speak, to draw the breath in that was required, and by then the thought was gone. Robin could not battle the heavy fatigue for long, succumbing instead to the darkness that invited him back.

He wasn't really sure if it was sleep. Normally he dreamt, of both good and bad, the imagery filling his mind and consuming him. Now it was empty, and felt as though he had merely blinked when he was woken again. Confusion was at its finest, Robin searching for not only where he was, but to as what was happening. In the darkness he could not see, but what he felt was a different story. A pressure on his chest, more weight on his arms, pinning them in place. Then a hand was over his lips, ceasing any sounds that might have worked their way out. And when the cold of the blade came to rest against his throat, he felt the confusion morph into a more prominent emotion of fear.

"The stories say that you are a difficult man to kill," Joseph whispered, his face only inches away. "Some say that you are already dead, a phantom that walks, and therefore cannot be killed. But we almost proved them wrong earlier today, didn't we? Let's not disappoint them," the man shook his head. "Nothing personal, but we cannot risk you speaking with the King, now can we?"

Memory slammed into him, his fury unmatched. There was no more confusion, only raw anger as he moved. In mere seconds Joseph found himself on the floor, scrambling to his feet as Robin went after him a second time. The knife was still grasped firmly in a fist, cutting the air between them, sending out a warning. Robin was unarmed, had been so since his capture. But this wasn't the first time he had faced such odds. The weapon had been easy to avoid, dodging under the wild swing and connecting a blow of his own, kicking out to knock the knife from the man's hand. Now they were even, or so he thought.

Joseph was bigger, and he was stronger, well rested and heavily trained in the battles of war. Forest life had left Robin weaker than what he had been, and the ill-welcome to his land had not done him any favors. And the first blow that landed him on his back had not been as much as a surprise. But Robin kicked out as the man came for him, blood racing, leaden with adrenaline that pushed him forward, that made him strong.

There was clatter, empty plates and bowls falling over one another as they hit the ground, knocked from their resting place. Robin was on his feet again, balance wavering on the uneven sand as he moved for the other again. All he could see was the anger, the blood-red rage that filled his vision, the knowledge of who this man was, and all that he had done, and what he was planning to do. Robin knew that it did not matter if he died tonight; all he knew was that Joseph could not be allowed to live.

Memory evaded him for those next few moments. It may have been due to the rage, or maybe he had simply had a lapse of concentration. What he knew next was that he could no longer move forward, and instead was being pulled further away from the other. His struggles got him nowhere, and the anger only heightened.

"Stop!"

He knew that voice, knew that his obedience was required, but Robin could not stop himself. But neither could he free himself. It was in the next moment that changed however, not due to strength, but weakness instead. Energy spent, Robin felt his knees buckle, his weight taking him down. One of the men holding him managed to keep hold, but when it was apparent that he was going no further, Robin was released.

"What is going on?"

The king was in full view now, his questioning gaze first on him, then on Joseph who was at the other side, the man on his feet, and unrestrained as well. It was also he that spoke first, confusion lining his voice.

"Forgive me, your Majesty, I came only to ask Locksley for forgiveness, and that is when he attacked."

"This man is a traitor," Robin's voice was rougher than what he was accustomed to hearing, what the others were hearing judging by their reactions. Or maybe it was simply surprise at the accusation that had just been uttered. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him, Robin closing his eyes where he sat. He felt strangely warm, despite the fact he was acutely aware of how cold the air was about him.

"What?" Joseph had taken on the same sickly innocent tone, pretending as though he was clueless to this entire situation. Had Robin not known firsthand about his lies, he might have believed him too.

"He is mad," the man continued, defending his position, "angry no doubt about what has happened. Your Majesty, I know that I was wrong in my decision; that was why I came to seek forgiveness."

"Lies," Robin breathed, opening his eyes once again. "He is working with the others. He plans to kill the king."

"This is ridiculous," the man's tone had changed, had grown more anxious. "It is nothing more than personal revenge-"

"When he failed to kill me before, he came to finish the job," Robin cut him off, but he was silenced by yet another voice.

"Enough," the king was stern, watching the pair. "We will not go about casting blame in this manner." Silence followed, and when he was satisfied, the king turned to him.

"Robin, consider what you are saying," the warning was clear, but it only served to anger him.

"You had no difficultly in accusing me of the same."

It was meant to be an insult, one he regretted shortly after saying it. He could feel his cheeks burn with the humiliation as he turned away, a quiet voice muttering an apology. But the king did not seem angry with him, his voice quiet in response.

"Yes, and you know better than anyone what happened as a result. I will not allow for something of the same to happen here."

"I have proof," Robin pressed, meeting his gaze. It flicked to where Joseph stood, quiet and unmoving at the other side of the tent. "He has a ring, one that bears the sheriff's insignia, given to all the Black Knights, and adversaries."

To this the man did not show any reaction, perhaps simply accepting the fact he was to be found out. When the nod was given, the men standing closest to Joseph began searching him. Robin knew that they would find the ring, and that this discussion would be over. He would be ousted, allies found, and then Robin knew that he could rest easily knowing that the king was safe once more. In the next moment, he felt his heart drop.

"He has nothing," the first man reported, and Robin could feel the anger again, despite his weariness.

"The he disposed of it somewhere!"

"With all due respect, my lord," Joseph spoke now, pulling free of the arms that held him. "I have no idea of what he is speaking about. I have no ring…and no intentions of betrayal."

"Please, your majesty," Robin breathed, not allowing the other to continue speaking. "Every word I have spoken has been true, has it not?"

To this the king nodded. "You have been most loyal, Robin."

"Then hear me now," he continued, "you must trust me."

"He has had a difficult day, my lord," Joseph cut in, breaking the silence. "The heat…it can do strange things, can it not?"

Robin felt sick to see the king nod in agreement. Even now, even after all he had done, his word was still not trusted. He had been away for a long absence, but certainly that did not mean they could dismiss his word so easily? Robin tried to pull himself to his feet, to regain some dignity, but found himself unable to, instead staying where he was.

"Leave us," the king nodded to the rest of the men, pausing just then. He was watching Joseph, perhaps considering what Robin had said earlier. Then he let out a sigh. "Restrain him; but do not do anything until you have heard from me."

"Your majesty?" Joseph's voice was panicked, but he fell silent as the king reassured him.

"Until we have matters cleared up, there will be no chances taken. See to it that he is treated respectfully."

The last order had been given to one of the guards as they left, and Robin could feel the anger starting to return. It had not much of a chance to flourish, his body too worn to try and muster up any more emotions. He found the king watching him, and only offered up a shake of his head.

"What have I done?" Robin wanted to know. At the confused look on the man's face he let out a sigh, explaining himself. "What must I do to prove my loyalty to you?"

"Robin," the king let out a sigh. "There is nothing you need to prove. If anything, I should be asking you that question."

"And what has changed? When you say that you trust me, but then do not believe any of my words?"

"You are weary, Robin," his voice was firm, demanding. "I expect you to be angry with Joseph, that is natural, but to accuse him of treason?"

"Before he had me hang," he stated, his voice just as firm, "he told me of what he planned to do. He showed me the ring, and spoke of how you would succumb to fever, infections from your wounds. If that is not treason, then I have been ill-informed."

"Yet he had no ring."

"He is a traitor," Robin pressed, "I will prove it."

"I hear your words, Robin of Locksley," the king nodded to him. The demanding tone was gone, replaced by a softer, kinder one. "But they are driven by everything aside from rational thought. I will not have a repeat of what happened earlier."

"So you will take his word over mine?"

"I am taking no one's word at this moment. Once you have taken some rest, and regained your strength, we will continue this discussion."

Robin looked up at the hand that was offered, taking it after a brief hesitation. He was not happy with the king's decision, but the man's word was final. And he knew that part of it had been true. On his feet he was lightheaded; staggering to the bed he had been on earlier that night. He was beyond exhausted, drained, both physically and emotionally. But while the king had been right about one thing, Robin knew he had been wrong about another. And for now, there was no way he could prove that to be true.

**TBC**


	5. A Secret and a Ploy

**This will be my last post for both of my stories until sometime next week, as I will be out of town. So make sure to thank Kegel for her efforts in getting this edited today so that I could post. :)**

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**Chapter Five: A Secret and a Ploy**

As per request of the king, Joseph had been restrained. They had been far more courteous to the man than what they had been with him, but somehow Robin wasn't all that surprised. Joseph was the leader of these men, the king's right hand, and most, if not all, no doubt feared repercussions should they do anything other than what had been ordered. Still it was unnerving, even more so the fact that his own words were the ones being doubted.

Robin stood a good pace away, leaning against a post that was sheltered in the shade. He had been here, studying the other for quite some time. What he was looking for he wasn't certain, but Robin was hopeful that his presence alone would make the other nervous enough to admit to his doings. Yet the few times that Joseph had bothered to meet his gaze had proven otherwise. There was always a smug expression on his features, one that boasted of his doings and the knowledge that he would not be found out.

He had a ring. Somewhere, and it wasn't a surprise to learn the man had disposed of it. If only he could find it…but Robin wondered what, if anything, that would prove. James had held the same exact ring, had, like Joseph, been bought by the sheriff. No doubt the trinket could be associated with him. Or even another.

If both James and Joseph had been swayed by the lust for power, then so could others. How many more here were working for the sheriff? It would be a chore to figure it out, Robin doubtful that the man would confess each and every name. Even if he were prompted, he might sprout names just to cause confusion, and innocents would possibly pay for it. Robin let out a sigh, closing his eyes at the complicated matter.

The king was the first priority. Robin could not leave here until matters were resolved, and he knew the king to be safe. The man had left earlier that day with a few others, having brought back Carter's body and given the man a proper burial. Robin had gone, had given his last respects, but during all of that he found himself strangely detached. There had been no sign of Marian, and so far no word as to what had happened to her. There was a dim hope that maybe, by the slightest chance of fate, his men had gone back for her. That she was safe with them. Will had said they were all safe; maybe he had spoken of Marian's fate as well. This was his hope, however foolish it might be.

His men were of another concern entirely. Revelations had come about that at least one of them had been wounded. But the night he had spoken with Will encouraged him otherwise that it was not a serious matter. Several groups had gone out in search of them, and like Marian, no word had come as of yet. It wasn't a surprise; Robin knew his men would not be found unless they wished to be. They had proven that the night before, after being able to sneak into the encampment.

He turned at the approach of the other, knowing that it had been another failed attempt as the man shook his head. Roger had been the last of the parties sent out in a final search, but it had garnered them nothing. "I'm sorry, Robin."

"Had they been easy to find, they would already be dead," he answered back, giving the man some encouragement. His men would have been of little importance to the crusaders, and simply been killed like enemies of war. Surely the other knew this.

Roger shook his head, "If you trained them, then there is no doubt they'll evade detection. But that was not what I was referring to."

To this Robin was silent. He knew the man was apologizing for all that had transpired. Roger had not directly taken part in it, but neither had he tried to stop it when given the chance. Even so, he could not find reason to be angry with the man.

"So you think?" Roger didn't finish the sentence, but Robin could see where he was looking. Joseph was watching the pair of them intently, not turning away as their gazes locked.

"No," the answer surprised him, but before the other could question, Robin continued. "I know."

"Robin…I've known Joseph for a long time now; I do not think…"

"And you said the same about me," Robin reasoned, catching his gaze.

"I didn't want to believe it," he answered, apparently uncomfortable with the conversation now. "And it wasn't I who made the first accusation. Are you saying I should have gone against our king?"

"And whose decision was it to not wait for the king this morning?"

Roger's gaze fell as the man turned away. It was harsh, Robin knew, but there was still anger there. It was fueled more by the present situation, rather than what resentment the past held. He let out a sigh, knowing that what he had just said was uncalled for.

"I did not mean that," he waited until the other looked at him before continuing. "You were the one, if I hear correctly, that stopped it all. For that I owe you my thanks."

"It was the king's order," he merely shrugged it off. "I could have done a lot more; but I guess that I am not as bold as you. If there is anything that I can do to show you otherwise, do not hesitate to ask."

Robin nodded, turning back to watch the bound man. What would become of him, Robin did not know. He would have to speak with the king once more, would have to try and sway him to understand the importance of what this all involved. If released, Joseph would either bide his time until another opportunity presented itself, or would simply flee at the first chance he got. That he could not allow, even if it meant risking himself once more.

Robin also knew that for each minute spent here, it was another that his men spent elsewhere. They were in no danger from the crusaders now, but for the Saracens it might be another story altogether. Djaq might be able to buy them some time, but their good fortune could not last forever. Yet Robin could not bring himself to leave. Slowly he reached into the folds of his tunic, pulling free the bit of wood. Once he had drawn it over his head, he turned to Roger who was watching him curiously.

"Take this," he pressed the tag into the other's hand. "Tell me, do you know who Bassam is?"

"The bird man?"

To that Robin almost laughed. How Bassam would react to being called such a thing was a mystery to him. But for now it mattered little, and Robin gave Roger a nod. "Take this to him, tell him 'we are Robin Hood'."

"What?" the confusion in the other man's face was clear. He would have to explain later, he knew. For now he only smiled.

"He will understand it, I am sure. Tell him that I have sent you, and ask for Safiyya. You will either find my men there, or learn to where they may have gone."

"Safiyya? Is she the Saracen?"

Robin nodded, pursing his lips after a moment. "She goes by Djaq, but I think Bassam will respond better to the first."

"How did you manage to come by a Saracen?"

"I didn't," Robin admitted freely. "She happened to come by us. There'll be time to explain later," he reassured the other. "It'll be dark soon, and there is a curfew in that area."

"I will get some men ready," Roger nodded, understanding what was being explained. The tag was slipped into a pocket as he left, and Robin resumed his previous role in watching the prisoner. There were already others keeping guard, but his motives were driven by other reasons. But hardly had he done so that another was already calling his name.

"Your Majesty," Robin gave the other a bow, bringing himself up into a proper stance. It had been only a day since the king had received the injury, but already his arm was free of the makeshift sling it had been in that morning. Still it was easy to see it bothered him, Robin noting the way it hung at his side.

"Locksley; it is…pleasing to see that you are taking your rest."

"There are more important matters which need attending to," Robin answered without hesitation. He had slept earlier, an hour, perhaps a little more, enough to where he could function under his own strength. It would still take another night, another few nights even, before he felt his true vitality return.

"You were always persistent," the king glanced to where the prisoner sat, a frown on his face. What would happen to him was anyone's guess. Robin believed, or at least hoped, that the king would not just simply ignore his word. But seeing his earlier hesitancy gave cause to the fact that he may not also be so keen on simply ordering the man executed. The king may simply oust him, send the man back to England with disfavor. That would be scorn enough for most men, but not to someone who was intent on removing the king from the throne. This was what the king needed to understand.

"What will happen to him?"

"In due time," the king responded, his gaze focused back on Robin. "Come, there's something I want to show you."

"Your Majesty, I do believe-"

"Sometimes I fear I may be confusing your persistence with disobedience."

Robin let out a sigh, giving Joseph another long, hard look. He wanted for this to be resolved now, rather than later, but what choice did he have? The king was waiting, was expecting him, having given an order. He gave a nod, forcing himself away, following the other man across the sand.

It felt strange to be here, dressed still in his forest garb that had become his normal wear. He stood out clearly against the sea of white and red, of men who were clad in armor and heavily armed. He had been one of them, all that time ago, had toiled under this sun, and soiled the earth below with blood of the enemies. He too, had seen his own blood seep free between tightly clenched fingers, and could remember both the pain and fear that had encountered him that night. Today had not been the only time he had almost seen his own demise in this land.

Robin ducked under the pole, blinking in the shaded light as he entered the tent. Why they were here he was not sure. The hospital tent, this he could remember well. There had been far more wounded last time he had seen it; of course it had been on the other end, weary eyes taking in the scene as he awoke from fever. It was still the same as he remembered, having countless hours to do nothing other than sleep, or study the nicks in the posts, or the stains on the fabric walls.

He felt his breath catch, forgetting everything the next moment. Robin was sure he was dreaming, that he finally had gone mad under the hot sun. The king had not spoken, had simply stood there watching, and it was then Robin realized that the man was waiting on him. Somehow he found his resolve, had been able to force himself to move. And as he sunk down by the bedside, it was only then that any words were spoken.

"I only found out a little while ago. They did not know who she was, or else I would have known sooner."

Robin reached out a hand, fingers brushing away the hair that clung to her face. She was warm to the touch, fever evident, and that was no surprise with the wound she had taken. But she was alive.

"Marian?"

Robin's voice was barely audible, even to himself as he leaned in. Both hands rested on her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks as he tried to keep his emotions at bay. For so long he had been terrified to learn of the truth, every absurd possibility racing through his mind in the simple hope he wouldn't have to think of a more horrible happening. But here she was. And Robin was no fool, for though she still drew breath, the worst was not over yet.

When he called her name again there was the smallest of responses, the vaguest movement felt under his fingers. Or perhaps he imagined it, having wanted it so badly. Swallowing he leaned forward, lips pressing against her forehead, resting his own there a moment later. They still had a chance, there was still a hope.

"She has the best tending to her," the king spoke again, his words trying to offer whatever comfort they could. "The same that saw to you, when you were last here."

Robin let out a half chocked-laugh, shaking his head. "The same man who allowed for my stitching to get infected?"

"If I recall correctly that was more of your doing than his."

He grinned at the comment, his smile lasting only briefly. It had been, and Robin reasoned that he had lived through it because of the physician that tended to him. She was in good hands, but even they might not be enough. The thought was cruel, for he could not bear to have found her, only to lose her once more. And this time for certain.

There was a shout, a sudden clamor that drew their attention to the outside. The king wasted little time in responding, but Robin felt himself hesitate, stuck between wanting to stay, and longing to see what had happened. He grasped the sword that was at his side, having taken the weapon back shortly after rousing from his brief repose. Then he let out a scowl as the commotion escalated, and Robin found himself following the path that had been previously taken.

A hand shielded his eyes from the onslaught of the sun as he burst out into the encampment. There was confusion, shouts echoing through the desert, and Robin was already moving to meet up with the king. There were no signs of enemies, the first reason there was to rouse an alarm. Instead what he saw both angered and alarmed him.

The post on which Joseph had been prisoner for all of the morning was now bare. Ropes sprawled loosely over the sand, sheared away at one end, dips in the sand in where feet had heavily torn at the earth, trying to find support. There was blood too, one of the guards sporting a bloodied nose, another wincing on the ground in pain, nursing a fresh stab wound to his shoulder.

And atop the post, a length of rope drilled into the wood by knifepoint, held the single, infuriating clue that told its tale all too well. The ring which bore the Sheriff of Nottingham's insignia. Frustrated Robin pulled it free, fingers squeezing it as if trying to crush the metal in his hand. They only opened the next moment when the king came to his side, staring quietly down at the betrayal.

"Find him," the king ordered another, his voice tense, "alive. He will have me to answer to first."

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He hadn't meant to fall asleep. Yet somehow he did, the sounds, along with the movements telling him he was no longer alone. Still, he didn't move from where he was, noting the pain in his back, the stiffness in his shoulders and neck. How _had _he managed to fall asleep, sitting as he was?

"Not like I have a difficult enough job, but now I have to work around this?" a voice was grumbling, rambling with an exasperated tone. "Ah yes, and it's supposed to be different because she is a woman. Figures."

Robin couldn't help himself, "I can hear you."

"Obviously," came the response. "Who else do you think I'm talking to?"

He opened an eye, watching the man who was just on the other side of the bed, bandages in one hand, a bowl in the other. It was thrust out to Robin in the next moment, who took it wearily with a frown on his face. Cautiously he brought it to his nose, inhaling, then took it away quickly.

"Not for eating," the man warned him, hands beckoning down to where Marian lay. "To help draw out the infection."

The soiled bandages were removed, one at a time, tossed in a heap to the ground. The cloth the physician had was dipped into the bowl that Robin held, and pressed shortly against the stitching. There was the slightest of groans in response from the woman below, and Robin caught her hand in his free one, offering quiet support. Whether or not she knew he was there was a question that remained to be answered, but his being here brought him the smallest amount of comfort.

He had wanted to go, to track down Joseph. Yet the king's orders were for him to remain here. Robin had wanted to argue, had started to, but hadn't been able to find the words to continue. He couldn't argue against the fact that he was worn, nor could he say that he didn't want to be here, and see to Marian. So he relented, had done as he had been told. Exactly how long he had slept was a mystery to him, and the questions were already nagging at his minds.

"What have you heard about Joseph, have they found him?" Robin wondered, reaching up with a hand to rub his forehead.

"Do I look like a man who would know anything?" The physician wondered, turning to him. He let out a scoff, catching Robin's hand in his own and turning it towards the light of the torch so that he could see the bruising. The next moment there was a finger on his chin, lifting his head. "Not that I have enough to worry about with casualties from war, but now I hear they're starting to hang their own men. And they wonder why I always have so much work to do."

Robin pulled away from the touch, but reached up with his own hand to stroke the swollen flesh. The pain there he had grown used to, similar to the soreness that preceded any injury really. One that was more of an ache, persistent, but not overly burdening.

"There might be something, for the swelling, I will see to it in a moment," the man continued, his concentration back down on the wound.

"It is fine," Robin brushed him off, setting the bowl down, and offering to help with the fresh bandages.

"I believe that I am the physician here, so I will determine if it is fine or not," he was warned, the man standing as he wiped his hands clean. "She will need another draught for the pain. I can trust you'll still be here then?"

"Another draught?" Robin wondered, nodding in answer to the earlier question. "Is that why she has not awaken?"

"Partly the fever, too," came the response. "To let her fully wake would be torture on its own. There will still be too much pain, until the wound heals a little more. So tell me, is she your wife?"

"We are to marry," Robin said solemnly, still holding onto her hand. "If she is to live."

"I haven't lost very many men, you included, and I don't anticipate on starting to lose women either."

The comment gave him hope, the captive breath finally being released. "It looks promising then?"

"She is young, and strong," the man replied, gathering up the soiled bandages and empty bowl. "I will return momentarily."

Robin shifted his weight below him, stretching out his legs, fighting off a yawn. It had not been the best of ideas to sleep like he had, but at the same time it hadn't exactly been planned. But he did reason he felt better, aside from the new aches that had found their way into his joints and limbs. The news of Marian's state of course helped, his spirits lifting at the prospect.

"Robin?"

He turned at his name, catching the other man's eye. It was important, whatever it might be, that alone he could tell by the man's tone. Robin brought Marian's hand to his lips, kissing the back of it before laying it back down. Then slowly, he stood, walking with an awkward gait as he crossed the length of the tent. Roger was waiting for him up there.

"What did you find?"

The man had gone in an attempt to learn what might have happened to his men. While Bassam had sheltered them that one night, Robin was not sure if or when they had gone separate ways. While he had ordered Will to return to England with the others, he doubted that this was what they had done. And the look on the other man's face was a cause for worry.

"We might have a problem."

"Which is?" he could only wonder, a bit miffed to the fact that the man did not simply come out and say it.

"Your men _were_ there," Roger stressed, handing him back the tag. "Bassam claims that they departed, maybe half an hour before we arrived."

So they were still here, and no doubt headed this way. What other course would they have taken? But there was something in Roger's eyes that set him to a worry, already knowing that he would not like what he was about to hear.

"Tell me."

"Bassam says that crusaders already came, bearing the same message you gave me. They were told that you were dead, and they were offering them a way of safe passage back to England."

More crusaders? Ones that wanted to help, but who were claiming that he was dead? Robin frowned at this, but the next moment could feel his heart still. "Joseph."

The man had been close enough to overhear the conversation held between Robin and Roger earlier that day. And with his escape, due to the help of others, it appeared he was not yet giving up the fight. This meant his men were in danger, but yet, why would Joseph go after them when it was both the king and Robin he truly wanted?

"The crusader apparently stated they were going north, to a port there."

"They should have gone south," Robin told him quietly. They would have to return to Acre in order to catch a ship bearing passage home. That would make the most logical sense, especially if they were trying to flee. Why they would go in the opposite direction was a mystery to him. Unless…

"It is a trap," he whispered. Why else would they leave so many clues behind? Had they be honestly trying to evade detection, they would have said nothing. Would have warned Bassam that others would come looking for them, and to say nothing.

Now his men were captive to a man who was bent on personal revenge. And worse was the fact that they had no knowledge of this. Following would no doubt lead him to his death, but doing nothing sacrificed the lives of all those who meant anything to him. There really was no other choice.

"We must go."

Roger was already nodding. "I'll alert the king."

**TBC**


	6. Trap

**Thanks goes to Kegel for the beta on this :)**

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**Chapter Six: Trap**

The man was too tired for this, but Robin would not be swayed. And neither could he demand it of him. It was by his decision, Richard knew, that any of this was happening. They had been searching, scouring the area for any signs of the men, but despite their efforts it had been Joseph and the others who had gotten to them first. Where exactly he was taking them was unknown; they had narrowed it down to three possible ports, and while setting off for any, or perhaps all of them, would have been the wisest of decisions, Robin had other ideas.

He wanted to go in the opposite direction. It was his plan to return to Bassam's, the Sultan's pigeon handler, and see what other information could be gotten. Richard knew he shouldn't be surprised at the fact that Robin had gained the Saracen's trust. Once a private guard, the man had been exceptionally skilled with negotiations and coming to terms with others. It was something about him that led people to trust his word. The king believed that this time had been no different, for Robin had admitted it was Bassam who had led them to the camp in the first place.

"I will take a few men with me," Robin explained quietly. "If Bassam knows more, then he will tell me. One hour, we will meet back here, and determine our position."

"I'll lead a group ahead," Roger suggested quietly. "They already have the advantage by several hours; if we delay, we risk them leaving this land altogether, and forfeit innocent lives."

"My men are no use to them dead. And they will not leave," the man was certain in his decision. "They will use my men as bait; lure me close. They can't do that if they leave the shore."

"We will bring as many as we can spare," Richard offered. Minimal forces would remain behind, to watch over the wounded, to listen for any news, to hold down the fort essentially. They would not require a lot, seeing that no battle was present as of now. Indeed it would be quiet. But Robin was shaking his head.

"No, we'll draw less attention if we stay in a smaller group. Joseph is expecting us to bring in a large force, so that he can spot us easily. We stay small, split up in twos and threes, and surround them from afar."

To this he simply nodded. He trusted Robin's judgment, something he should have done before. He could easily recall the number of battles Robin had led, and how nearly all of them had been won. The man had a quick mind, one that was logical and perhaps a little mad. But the madness, he supposed, was the one key that often swayed the battle in their favor.

"You should stay here," Robin spoke again, watching him now. The king turned towards him, his gaze hard and unchanging.

"I rule from the front lines, I always have."

"You are wounded, my liege," the man pressed quietly. It was ironic in itself, and Richard couldn't help but laugh. Robin was hardly in any better state, his face drawn, bruises and lacerations intermixed with burns from the sun. He was quite the sight, and yet here he was concerned about a wound that in itself wasn't all that painful. He would admit that it was a lie, that it still troubled him quite a bit, but it would not slow him down anymore than what Robin's hurts would.

"Please, your majesty," Robin continued. "We are walking head first into a trap, one that will probably kill us all. It is not your place to die here, not for this cause."

"But it is yours?"

"If I die," he breathed, "_If, _my life is of no importance. You are the King of England, we need you alive."

"I would not so willingly send my most loyal solider to his death alone."

He could see Robin wince at this, his face reddening despite the burns that already masked it. Richard meant what he said, and knew that true forgiveness could never be gained for his earlier actions. Robin had been right, accurate in the fact that while Richard proclaimed there was trust between them, it still had not been given fully. He had simply been trying to avoid regretful decisions, and had ended up doing more harm than good. This mess was of his own doing, and he would not leave another to clean it up.

"I go on my own accord," Robin finally answered. "As does anyone else who wishes to come."

To this he nodded. The king already knew that several had pledged to follow, more had agreed when Richard had summoned them, but that was hardly a surprise as no one would dare to refuse a direct order from their ruler. But there was truth in what Robin had said, and he could not stand here and say nothing.

"It is by my own accord as well, Robin of Locksley."

"It is foolish," the other argued. There were a few mutters about them, the other crusaders listening, watching, but not bold enough to speak, allowing instead for subject and king to work matters out on their own. Richard no doubt knew that others agreed with Robin. He also knew that others would agree with him. This was no battle, as they had the knowledge that they were walking into a trap, and doing little to avoid it. Yet what kind of king would he be, to stay here in the safety of his own camp, while the one man he wronged rode off alone to face death?

"Foolish as it may be, my decision is final. I will wait for your return, and we will see this through together, whatever fate may await us."

"Joseph wants for you to come," Robin tried one final time. Persistent, or disobedient, Richard could never quite figure it out. "He will try and kill you, and if he succeeds, what favor does that do for England?"

"We are at war, Robin," he pointed out, a smile on his face. "Death is always a part of that, I'm certain you know that better than any man here. You will not sway me from my course. Hurry now, the longer we squabble here, the further our enemies go."

He would not be surprised if Robin challenged him again. Other men would have given in long ago, but Robin was different. Richard could see the look in his eye, could see that he wanted to do so again, but instead he only nodded, finally submitting. There would be no more arguing for now, though he was certain the man would try once more before they departed. But he had been honest in his words, and had no intentions of wavering from his course.

* * *

They had tried to go back for him. They had tried. But when the morning came, it brought with it a dozen crusaders, clad in armor, laden with weapons, each one scouring the town. They had waited, and held their breath, but each opportunity that presented itself lasted only long enough to gather the courage to go. Then it was gone in the next fading moment.

Twice they had to go into hiding, with crusaders passing by so close it was thought that all hope was lost. It had been suggested that maybe Robin had spoken with the king, that he was fine. Will had wanted to believe it too, but he could also remember what the man had said the night before concerning the king. And the questions were not hard to miss; Bassam had brought back word that they were searching for the traitors. Lucky for them, Bassam had not shown the crusaders any hospitality.

At long last they seemed to taper off, and Will and the others hardly wasted time in organizing themselves, a simple prayer being said with hopes that they were not too late. Then they had come. At first it was assumed it was simply another troop; the last man, searching the grounds one last time with feeble hopes of catching some fools within their traps. What he said was no threat; still it had caused his heart to sink, his mouth to grow dry, and his stomach to seize as he almost grew sick.

They were too late.

Even now he still didn't want to believe it. Somehow Will had known that it would happen, but foolishly he had tried to convince himself otherwise. Spurred on the words by Djaq, with hope in his heart, he had tricked himself into believing they would prevail. Robin had always made that seem so easy, but without the man they had lost, they had failed him.

Joseph had been sympathetic, but had urged for a quick departure. There were things he knew, things that he could have only heard from Robin. And now he was upholding the promise made, and was leading them to safety. They had gone north, had avoided the King's Camp, and now were on a road headed for a port which Joseph had informed them would give them safe passage. Something about a favor that was owed him, and questions would not be asked.

Their ride was mostly silent. Will had taken to falling behind, following the others as they moved through the night. The chill bit at him, even with the heavy layers of cloth. Joseph was at the front with the two other crusaders that had followed, leading the party in a single line. John was behind them, and then it was Allan, still recovering from his wound. Djaq was close to him, lining her steed up with the man's in order to offer support should he need it. Then it was Much.

Will had expected anger, had expected a cascade of never-ending insults, of pure blame. He was prepared for it, perhaps even wanting it, wanting something to fill this hole he felt inside of him. Instead the man had been eerily quiet. Only a few muttered questions, words that barely came out in a squeak as Joseph had told them the tale. The look on his face had been as though he had been slapped, his breath physically stolen away. The man had said nothing since, had followed, with his head down, eyes brimming with tears that had never been shed.

Will wasn't sure which betrayal was worse. Leaving Robin, or having lied to Much. Djaq had tried to comfort him, had tried to make him understand it was the only thing he could have done. But his mind flickered back to what Robin had often said, the same thing he had learned from Marian. There was always a choice. And he had chosen to leave him behind; he had chosen to let Robin die, and had chosen to lie about it.

Up ahead he could see the group coming to a stop, Joseph listening to something that Djaq was saying. There was a nod from the crusader, and she dismounted, moving over to help Allan do the same. This would mark the second time they had come to a rest since their hastened departure. With the man's wound, Allan could not carry on for long without great pain. And the motions from the steed would tear the bandages loose, allowing for fresh blood to be spilt. Will could guess that Djaq needed time once again to bind it.

"We cannot stay long, I fear," Joseph began, though unnecessarily. It was not the first time the man had warned about the narrow escape from the others.

"Just time to rest," Djaq responded, already tending to Allan's wound. The man was biting his lip, to keep from crying out in fear of being overheard by unwanted parties. Will dismounted his own steed, sinking to the ground with a bitter sigh. He hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, sustaining himself only on a few mouthfuls of water. Even so he didn't feel hungry, or tired; just strangely empty. As though there was nothing inside of him.

"I know it's hard," Joseph spoke once having taken a drink from a flask. He offered it to John, who took it without question, the water working its way around the small group. "I was there when it they…when it happened."

Will wasn't sure if he wanted to hear it, but he couldn't bring himself to ask for the other to stop. Nor did he have the strength to pull himself up and leave. At any rate, where would he even go? The desert stretched on for miles about them, with Saracens who most likely would have no qualms in killing them, and the entire King's Private Guard on their tails for what had transpired the day before.

"And I suppose you did everything to try and help him?"

Much's voice was bitter, sharp but strangely quiet. Will was not sure to who the question was directed, for though it had been Joseph who had spoken, it was to Will that Much was glaring. He turned away quickly, not sure as to how to respond, but was saved from that fear by the other who answered.

"Within reason, yes. But my loyalties are to the king, and I could not go against his word."

"The king?" this piqued his interest. "So he lives?"

There was a momentarily falter on Joseph's face, something odd Will couldn't place. It was gone the next moment, the man's reply chosen with careful words. "He is…he is not well."

Will wasn't sure why it had given him hope. If Robin was already dead then there was little the king could do. He could pardon the rest of them, Will supposed, but that hardly seemed significant at the moment's time. He looked up as the other sighed.

"Had there been some way I could have proven his innocence…" Joseph slowly shook his head, a clear look of sorrow on his face. Will could feel his pain, as he was certain the others could as well.

"How did you know?"

John was the one to speak this time, the party looking towards the large man. He, like Much, had kept silent to himself, having only muttered the simple statement that it had not been a good day. Accused as a traitor, killed by men who were once comrades; Will could think of no worse death. No, it hadn't been a good day to die.

"How did I know what?"

"That he wasn't guilty."

"I just guessed," Joseph answered quietly. "I've known Locksley for a long time; we fought together in the King's Guard, and saved each other more than once. Robin nearly gave his life for the king, back in Acre. It didn't make any sense for him to try and kill the king now."

There was a fondness in his voice as the man recalled old memories. A small smile on his lips, but it vanished as he raised his head, meeting the other's gazes. Now it was solemn, another look in his eye that Will had difficulty in placing.

"It was quick, I…I don't think he suffered much."

Spoken as if it was supposed to be some sort of consolation. It made him sick, remembering the morning when he had found his mother dead. His father had said something of the same; she had gone in her sleep, it had been quick. She hadn't suffered. But she had; Will had seen it in her eyes. The same look he had seen in Robin's eyes the night before, the night he had left him. There had been pain there, hopelessness, defeat.

"Where will you go?" Djaq wondered quietly as she finished tying off the rest of the bandages. Allan was wincing, clearly in pain but not wanting to admit to it. To the question, Joseph shrugged, his head down.

"Back to England, I guess. There is something there that was promised to me…I would like to claim it."

"What?"

But Joseph was shaking his head, moving to his feet. "You'll learn soon enough, I am sure. We must keep going; I fear we are short on time."

The others were moving too, slower than the first, but mounting all the same. For Allan it took more than one try, along with the aid of John and under Djaq's watchful eye. She glanced back at him momentarily, and Will nodded to her, already having decided to bring up the rear once more. His gaze moved back to Much, trying to find a way to apologize, but unable to find both words or the time. It was all he could do to mount, and follow, with only his thoughts for company.

Their pace was quicker now than it had been before. Will guessed part of it was unintentional, just the simple worry as the sun began to rise. Along with it came something else, the wavering vision of a village, and beyond that, ships that were moored in the port. This was the passage that Joseph had promised them, as he had spoken of a friend that would see them safely through. The two other crusaders, names that Will had failed to miss, rode alongside Joseph as they entered the town.

There were glances their way, words that were muttered in another language that he could not understand. Will kept his gaze ahead, watching Djaq's movements, seeing how she, unlike the others, seemed at ease. This was her home, there was hardly any reason she had to fear. It would be easy for her to stay, he realized, to resume a life she had once left. Among the others she would blend in easily, and it was doubtful that any of the crusaders would be able to point her out.

It left him to thinking, to wondering of the possibility of a future together here. But it was filled with shame and guilt. He couldn't stay; Robin wanted him to return to England with the others, wanted him to do what they always had done. To stop the sheriff, to protect the people. But without the king…what was the point? John would surely claim the throne, and have even more power than before. Would all this trouble only lead them to their demise in another manner?

Carefully he dismounted, handing the reigns off to the men who had come to collect the other horses. Joseph was already on the ship with the others, and he made his way up slowly, almost regretfully. There was an odd feeling he had, as though they were forgetting something, as though something wasn't right. Will placed the blame on his guilt, the fact that Robin was not here…would never be here. But as he reached the top, stepping on the deck of the vessel that was to take them home, he felt his blood run cold.

The others were there; as well as the sheriff…and Guy of Gisborne. The three crusaders who had given them safe passage to this point had all drawn their weapons, and the crew of the ship had followed suit as well. Will was forced to the middle, another man thrusting the flat of the blade against his shoulder, herding him like an animal.

Among the outlaws was a mixture of confusion, and anger marked clearly on John's face. It was then he began to understand, as though the concept itself was hard to grasp. "You were working with him?"

Joseph let out a shrug, offering up a smile. "Remember when I told you something was waiting for me back in England? Title of Lord, lands in my name, and an endless supply of wealth and riches. A far better deal than sweating under the sun here."

"Loyalty at its finest," the sheriff mocked, a smile on his face. "We really thought we had lost it all when you lot showed up unexpectedly. But now here you are, just as was promised. I'm normally not one for reunions and all, but I find this quite fetching, don't you agree?"

Will didn't answer, his mind racing at the comment. If Joseph had been working for the sheriff all along, then what he said about Robin couldn't be true. He would want the man dead, the king as well. Will risked a breath, meeting Joseph's gaze.

"Robin's alive."

Some of the others looked his way, but most were too busy focusing on the weapons that were trained on them. Joseph smiled, amusement in his eyes.

"Unfortunately, though we have plans to remedy that."

"Robin's alive?" Much stuttered, the uncertainty in his voice. "But you said…"

"If I had told you your precious leader was alive, you wouldn't have come. I had to think of something," the man confessed. "Come to think of it, he would be dead had it not been for the king. But no worries, we have plans for him as well."

"They will find us," Much stated boldly. The only thing it accomplished was a round of laughter.

"I intend on it. Why do you think I announced our plans when we first met? I knew given time Locksley would make his way to the pigeon man, and that he would learn what has happened. In fact, I suspect that he is on his way here now, along with the King of England. These men here are accurate marksmen. Not as fine as Locksley, but they can still hit a mark, and that's all that matters."

"They will know it is you," Will stated quietly. "All of the men back there will know it was you; they will never stop searching until they've found you."

Robin had told him as much. They would have to be content for being on the run for the remainder of their lives, and when they were caught…

"Once the king is dead," the sheriff cut in, mild irritation in his voice, "the prince will become king. And he will pardon all of us who have served him so loyally. You on the other hand, have private arrangements awaiting you back at Nottingham. That is, if you survive the voyage back home."

There was a clap of the hands, and order for the prisoners to be restrained. The crew were hired men, pirates most likely, with no qualms to handling their captives roughly. The odds were far too great, leaving them little opportunity to fight back. The sickly feeling had returned, but Will knew that it was for things that were to happen, as opposed to what already had transpired. But more so to the fact that there was nothing they could do about it.

**TBC**


	7. Rescue

**Thanks goes to Kegel for her beta and help with this chapter. Sorry for the long wait, once again. Next part will hopefully be up soon :) **

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* * *

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**Chapter Seven: Rescue**

He grimaced as the ropes were pulled taunt, the coarse fibers digging into his wrists, chaffing his flesh. Struggling against them only encouraged them to sink deeper, the bonds holding fast, securing him against the wooden post. There were a total of five, one for each of them, an eerie similarity to what had taken place earlier. Except not all of them were here this time…

"Nice and tight, hmm?" Vaysey grinned as he walked around them, surveying the work. "Just like old times; this here is becoming quite a habit, wouldn't you agree? What only yesterday you were tied up in the desert. But this time you won't be going free."

"Milord, what about this one?" one of the men asked tentatively. Will shot a glance over to where Allan sat on the ground, hands bound like them all, but he was grimacing in pain as he was pulled to his feet once more. A moment later he was back on the ground, too worn and in far too much pain to try and support his own weight.

"Tie him up with the rest," the sheriff grumbled, as though that had been the obvious solution in the first place.

"He can't stand—"

"He will remain upright if you get the ropes tight enough."

The man seemed to consider it for a moment, but then nodded, calling out to another man. It was Gisborne that responded, hauling Allan to his feet and dragging him to the post. In a matter of minutes he was bound, like the rest of them, another section of ropes crossing about his chest to ensure that he remained standing. Allan had held his tongue, had bit his lip hard enough to draw blood to keep from crying out. Will could understand the reasoning. No one wanted to show weakness in front of their enemies, but only a short time ago, Allan had been on their side.

The betrayal had come as a surprise, but it had made sense once Will had thought it over. It explained everything, how the sheriff and Gisborne knew of their traps, how they were always ahead. Allan had given information for money, and when he was discovered, Robin had banished him.

Instead of being remorseful, Allan had instead thrown his lot in with the others. That too, made some sense. After all, the man had nothing to lose then, but quite a lot to gain. So it was an even bigger surprise to see Allan come back for them, and still a strange feeling to have the man along, as though nothing had happened before. He couldn't decide if he felt pity for him now, or anger, for too many emotions were raging inside of him now, and not just due to the one man. It was at this entire situation, the knowledge they had been led into a trap, and that they were being used as bait.

"Oh come now, don't look so glum," the sheriff continued with another smirk. "You're about to witness a historical event. How many can say they witnessed the death of a king? And a famous outlaw, all at the same time? You'll be the talk of the dungeons when we return; everyone will want to hear your stories. I'm thinking…yes, that the crowd that will attend your hanging will be rather fetching, don't you?"

It was back to this again, the reminder they were to be brought back to England, to suffer what all was planned for them. Yet if it was a hanging, Will could only hope it was just that. He had been on the gallows before, had dangled from a rope, had nearly died there once already. A second time was not the most pleasurable thought, but there were far worse ways to go.

"Milord, the signal," Gisborne spoke, obviously having ignored the earlier exchange. He was standing at the front of the ship, eyes fixated on the land before them. Will turned too, as he knew the others were, straining to see. While they might be bound, they had not been gagged, and there was still a chance that they could give a warning. They still had a chance.

Apparently the others thought the same. When the line of horses first came into view, the two figures at the front were easy to see. The green and brown clad figure rode alongside one clad in red and white, a man who held himself high with a bandaged arm, the tell-tale signs of injury. Much was the first to cry out, screaming with all his might to warn Robin. Will and the others joined, each of them struggling in their bonds, calling out with desperate pleas.

"Turn away, turn away," the sheriff mocked, taking on a girlish voice as he clapped his hands. "Oh, this is far too entertaining. I hate to put an end to it," he laughed, raising an arm. The archers were already prepared, having strung their bows.

"Gisborne, have the men ready to set sail, I don't want to rely completely on luck. I want to be away from shore as soon as the king and Robin are dead."

"Yes, milord," Gisborne gave him a nod, moving quickly as the archers pulled their bows taunt. Now all they were waiting for was the signal. Will was still calling, still hoping that by some chance their desperate cries could be heard, that Robin would turn away. But instead the line of horses seemed to come quicker, a full charge now with weapons drawn on both sides. Then the twang could be heard, all the bows empty as another line of arrows were quickly strung.

The first line of arrows fell short, the horses pulling back, frightened creatures protesting and jittering amongst themselves as the crusaders fought for control. The second line of arrows were fired, and this time, they found their marks.

Robin was the first to fall, hitting the ground and unmoving, an arrow sticking out from his shoulder. More crusaders fell too, some staggering away to find shelter, others lying where they had fallen. Will felt his mouth go dry, his voice failing as he watched everything from afar. There was nothing he could do, weak and helpless. Then there was the king…and he could hear the sheriff behind him celebrating as the leader too was struck with a second arrow in less than a day. This time however, Will doubted the man would rise again. And soon, the rest of them would follow a similar fate.

* * *

He ran. A feat that was difficult just by itself. The ground shifted below him, feet digging into the sand as he skidded to a stop, pressing himself against the wall. Here he allowed himself a moment, trying to catch his breath as the others caught pace with him. They too took relief in the brief pause, waiting for his signal. One of them took initiative, slipping out quickly to survey the area. Near him, another man let out an angry sigh.

"Robin, we cannot linger, our men are under attack."

"They'll be fine," Robin snapped, forgetting who he was even speaking with. If the King of England was taken aback, there was no indication. "It's all a part of the plan."

"The plan was not to get them killed," Richard reminded him.

"We've taken precautions; I figured the sheriff and Joseph would not let us get close."

Indeed that had been the case. Which led Robin to be all the more thankful for the fact they had clad all the men with thick leathers and armor before sending them off. For a time they had all ridden together, Robin and the king dressed merely as crusaders while two others had imposed as them. Partway through the day, they had gone separate ways, Robin and the king leading another group of men who were now weaving their way through the back streets of the town's port.

"We best hurry," the man slipped back quietly, "they are preparing the ship."

Robin nodded, stringing an arrow as he moved forward. "We come from the sides, stay off the main roads. They'll be watching for more of us, do not allow yourself to be seen. Once we get to the ship, free my men, give them arms. We'll need all the help we can get."

"What about the traitors?" one of the others wondered.

"The punishment for treason is death," the king reminded them all, meeting Robin's gaze. He held it for a moment, suddenly afraid, but forced himself to nod. The sheriff, Gisborne, Joseph…they would all have to die. They all deserved to die, he figured, but the real question was if he could bring himself to actually do the deed when the time came. He swallowed, knowing that he had no choice. He was a warrior again, a crusader fighting for King Richard and England. The promise he had made to not kill again had long ago been broken, and it would have to be so here again.

"Seems like an easy way to go, consider all Joseph's done," one of the men remarked. Robin knew the comment was in reference to him, but revenge wasn't what was on his mind at the moment. The safety of his men, keeping the king alive, and getting back to Marian was.

"Let's do this," Robin nodded to them all, turning to the king just then. "Are you with me?"

"What is it you say? 'We are Robin Hood'?"

He let out a small smile, hearing the others echo the strange phrase amongst them. None of them knew of its origins, or even what it really meant, but no one had questioned him on it. Whether it was due from guilt, or simple fear of crossing him wrong and gaining ill-favor from a king who was already badly tempered, Robin could not say.

"Move out, remember your orders," Robin nodded to them all. They broke quickly, taking all different directions as king and crusader stayed behind. Robin watched the king, not willing to move just quite yet. "Your majesty," he spoke quietly now, serious now more than ever. "Please, I ask of you once more to stay out of harm's way. I cannot promise that I can protect you."

"I have already made my decision," the reminder came. Robin felt himself nodding, but wasn't willing to give in so easily.

"Milord, I—"

"Robin, now is not the time."

To this he fell silent. He knew that he long ago lost the argument, knew that with power came the privilege that one did not have to listen to commands, just simply give them. And King Richard was exercising this power as they stood here, the simplicity in his voice asking for so much more than what was said. Whatever would come to follow could not be changed, but the sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that if things were to go ill, then everything he and his men had tried to do would be in vain.

Robin was the last to move out, following the retreating shadow of his king as they ran across the alleyways, weaving around the buildings, sticking to the shadows. Ahead he could see the ship, could still hear the calls of his men, could see the crusaders out in the open, seeking cover from the falling arrows. Pure madness had broken free, with nameless innocents running amok to try and find cover, and swords had been drawn as the first of the men reached the ship.

Robin pulled away on his own, reaching out for the side of one building, hauling himself up. He needed the height in order to make this shot, feeling exposed and vulnerable as he reached the top. Without thought he strung an arrow, pulling the string taunt as he narrowed in on his target. Then he paused, his vision wavering, the breath catching inside his chest as he forced himself to wait.

It was Guy of Gisborne who he had sighted in on. He had never paused to think who he would fire upon first, but for whatever reason it had been this man. Why should it be anyone else?

Gisborne had nearly killed him back in Acre, had nearly taken the life of the king. He had ended the cease fire, had stirred the pot that led to only more killing, more betrayal. Gisborne had taken his lands, had killed countless of innocents, had nearly forced Marian into marriage, and now had attempted to take her life as well. And yet, Marian would never forgive him if he followed through.

For every sound reason he came up with why Gisborne deserved to die, it was Marian he saw, her seemingly lifeless body lying on the bed within the tent. She would live, she had to live, and if she did, then she would never forgive him. She would see his cruelty, his lust for blood as he attempted to settle a score born of out pure rage and hatred. And Robin felt himself hesitate.

From afar he watched, seeing first one, then another of his men freed. They were tired, and worn, but grasping for whatever could be used as a weapon, charging into a battle that lay in wait just off the ship with the port. With an angry sigh Robin let his weapon fall, jumping from the top to land on a pile of forgotten sheets, becoming awkwardly tangled. It took a moment to free himself, and then he was running, putting aside his bow for his sword as he met the fray.

His many months of following the rule of only killing when necessary had returned. Two men he dropped easily with cuts to the legs, another with a blow to the head as he made his way into the fray. Chaos consumed him, the smell of blood and sweat threatening to drown him as he moved with bodies that pressed around him. He couldn't see where he was going, could barely distinguish who was friend or foe. Somewhere above the chaos he could hear angry shouts, recognizing the sheriff's voice easily as the command to shove off was given. Robin knew that in a short time the ship would be too far out to catch, and he had to act quickly.

Pushing another man aside, he pressed his way through, blocking blow for blow against those who attacked him. But his efforts were in vain, as he could see the ship had already left the docks. Robin came to a stop just on the edge, forgetting momentarily the battle that was raging behind him. Instead his focus was on the ship, watching as men jumped to the orders of the sheriff, bodies shoved over into the water. How many of his men were still left on there he could not say, and the thought hardly occurred to him, his vision fixed on only one man who stared back at him with an empty, clearly pained face. That was when Robin suddenly realized. Gisborne did not know.

Of course, how could he? Gisborne had fled with the sheriff shortly after he had stabbed Marian. There could have been no way for him to know, and he would have to assume the same as Robin, that the wound had killed her. Robin had seen Gisborne kill many men before, and never once had he shown remorse for it. Yet it was clear anguish he had seen on the man's face, and no doubt it had little to do with his sudden appearance.

"Robin?"

The warning came just in time, Robin pulling away as the sword came down on him. He managed to block it, but could not retaliate in time with a blow of his own. Instead the advancing man stopped suddenly, a look of surprise on his face as he was struck from behind with a sword, falling to his knees before crumpling on the ground unmoving. Robin let out a long breath, then a relieved smile as he meet the other's gaze.

"We thought you were dead!" Will cried, moving quickly to his side. Near them the battle had quieted, the victory being made known with the usual war cries. Robin could barely think, let alone focus on what exactly was going on.

"Where are the others?" He had to know. The sheriff no doubt would have them killed shortly if they had not been so already. Nothing he did could save them, and nothing could be said to spare him of the guilt he would feel.

"Here," Will pressed, catching him by the arm to draw his attention back. "We're all here, we're okay. But you…we saw you get shot…and the king?"

"Roger," Robin breathed, suddenly remembering what had taken place before. He wasn't certain if he had heard Will all the way, his emotions torn too far in every direction with worry. Worry for Marian, for the king, for his men, and his friends who were wounded. Quickly he sheathed his sword, hurrying across the sands to the party that had been spied first.

Roger had taken his place. The man had been of the same build, and another crusader, Sir Daniel, had imposed as the king. The risks they had taken were tremendous, but they had known that in the first place. Still Robin was angry, angry at the fact the risk had to even be taken, and it made matters worse to know they had been wounded in his stead.

Roger had moved to his knees, pressing a hand around the arrow that was embedded into his shoulder. Robin dropped near him quickly, reaching a hand to help steady the man.

"I'm alright," Roger assured him breathlessly, "It didn't go all the way in, the binding helped."

Robin nodded, relieved to hear that part. The idea had come to him briefly, but he hadn't taken long to think over exactly how well it would work.

"We'll take care of you," Robin encouraged him, helping him to his feet. He didn't want to touch the arrow, didn't know how far it had gone in. While he could be reckless with his own wounds, he wasn't going to harm someone else so recklessly, not when time was on their side.

"Your men?"

Robin turned from him, searching the crowds once more. Will had said that they were all here, but he hadn't chanced seeing them. Or the king. He had to find them, had to know for himself.

"Go with the others, I'll find you later," he nodded towards the others, who were tending to Daniel. Then he turned away, staggering back to the crowd that had gathered in the center of the port. He was pushing his way through the bodies when someone came up from behind, grabbing him by both the shoulders and spinning him around. A moment later he found himself locked in an embrace, and he wasn't quite sure if the person was trying to hug him, or crush him.

"Much," he pushed the man off, wincing at the aches and pains that were now starting to fester once more. But he forced a smile, grateful to see his comrade still alive.

"What happened?" Much was demanding to know, gasping in shock at the cuts and bruises he had. Robin shook his head, not sure how he could explain everything, but was spared as the rest of his men approached him slowly.

"Robin?"

As much as he disliked it, he allowed himself to be drawn into another hug, this time from John who looked both worn and relived as he did. Djaq simply gave him a smile, content on staying by Will's side. It also did not take Robin long to notice Allan, the man favoring one leg as he tried to force a smile.

"Well, we did it, right? We saved the king and all…we're all here…well, almost, I mean…with Marian and all…"

Despite himself Robin couldn't help but laugh. No doubt the others thought him mad, but he did have his reasons. He meet Djaq's gaze, the concern there was clear, but they softened shortly after as she guessed what was on his mind.

"She is not dead?"

"What?" Much breathed, together with startled questions of the others. Robin nodded, the laughter dying as he composed himself.

"She is weak, but alive," he confirmed.

"Allah's will," Djaq whispered quietly, and to that Robin could agree. Allah, God, or simple fate, whatever it might be, had granted him at least that.

"Yeah…but the sheriff and Gisborne, they got away," Allan pointed out.

"Yes," Robin nodded. They had done so, but there were not very many places for them to go. The king was still alive, their plot had not only failed, but it also had been revealed. Surely now, having seen everything for himself, King Richard would return home and set matters straight. After all, that was why they had come here.

"Come on, lads, the others are waiting for us," he nodded towards his men. And maybe, Marian would be waiting for him, too.

**TBC**


	8. Coming to an End

**Yay, finally finished something! I've had a lot of trouble getting anything together as of late, so thanks to everyone for being so patient. This is the last chapter here, and I hope to continue 'It's Not Easy' here shortly as well. **

**Leave any thoughts on your way out, I love hearing from you guys! **

**Thanks goes to Kegel for the beta **

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**Chapter Eight: Coming to an End**

It was a long way back, the injured and the weary setting the pace. One that Robin could not argue with, even though he longed to have returned before now. Marian was on his thoughts constantly, even amidst the chatter of the men, the cheers of a job well done. Robin could not bring himself to fully agree.

They were alive, yes. But they had failed in other areas, something he was sure to hear of later when the time came. His first stop when they arrived at camp was the hospital tent. There had been no change in the time that he was gone, or so the physician told him. He would have no reason to lie, Robin knew, but the wonder remained with him if there was something more he was not being told. Shortly after, the news that he was expected in the king's tent came.

Much had wanted to come. While the others had kept him within sights, it was Much alone who had taken it upon himself to see that he stuck by Robin's side constantly since leaving the port. It hadn't mattered how many times Robin had tried to shoo him away, the man hadn't seemed to get the message. Or perhaps he had, and had simply not cared, still worried and distraught over what had taken place since their arrival in the Holy Lands. Whatever the case, this was one place Much could not follow, and so the man grudgingly agreed to stay behind when Robin requested him to do so.

By now Robin had lost track of the time. The sun had risen for the day and fallen, the night air still lingering with the warmth but disappearing quickly as he crossed the sands. A fire was burning towards the center of the camp, where many of the soldiers were taking food and sharing laughs, no doubts boasts as well. Among them he could see his own men, sharing in the spoils, having made fast friends with men who only a few days before had it set in mind to see them dead. Robin could also see the faces of the men who had taken injury, Roger and Daniel most certainly, favoring themselves, but enjoying the company. It gave him reason to smile as he passed through to the tent.

"Robin," the king nodded to him, inviting him in further inside. He accepted the goblet that was passed to him, sitting down as the other bade him. The wine was fresh, with a strong taste, something that he had not indulged in for quite some time now. Even so he drank sparingly, uncomfortable in the silence. He knew that the king had not requested for him to come simply to share a cup of wine.

"I had hoped that when I first saw you, that you had come to rejoin our cause," he finally spoke, having seated himself as well. Robin did not meet his gaze, eyes cast downward as he answered.

"With all due respect, my lord, I do believe my days of war are over."

And he felt as though they were. As far as war was concerned here. There was another battle, which in itself was entirely different, back home in England. That war would continue to wage perhaps as long as the crusades had, and similarly had no end in sight. The only way things were to change was if they would first change here.

"Yet you venture to a land of war on your own," Richard was quick in pointing out. Robin nodded.

"My duty is to protect my king."

"So you say, though I do believe you have no intentions of staying. Even though I have made the request that you do."

Robin was silent. What could he say to that? His king had called upon him to return with more forces a time ago, the message brought by McLellan. Robin had made the choice to disobey the order, with understanding that the king simply had not known what was transpiring back in England at that time. Though he felt at the time it had been the right thing to do, he had still disobeyed his king.

"It has come to my attention," the king started shortly after, as though he had not expected an answer, "that my brother is being quite the nuisance back home."

Nuisance was a light word for it. "He is trying to take your throne," Robin pointed out.

"He will not obtain it while I am still alive."

"Which is why he wishes you dead."

"And you knew of the plans," the king continued, "yet you take no action, and allow the assassins to be free to come here?"

"You know of the deal your brother has with the sheriff?" Robin questioned, looking at him now. "Of how many innocents would die for his death?"

"How many will die because you allow him to live?"

"Perhaps it is not a question of how many, but how few," Robin pointed out. "Not only will the people of Nottingham die, but those who depend on the market in order to feed their families will suffer as well."

The market had flourished. It was nowhere where it used to be, back in the days when Robin had been a noble and a lord, but it was better than it had been on his return from war. He knew that if Nottingham was to be destroyed, families would soon begin to starve as merchants left to take their wares elsewhere.

"So you have said. That is why you let him live back in England," Richard agreed. "But it hardly accounts for your actions here. You had the chance to kill them. Yet you did not."

He could not argue against this. But neither could he bring himself to explain the reason why. To admit the only reason he had kept from firing his bow was because of a woman. One that he loved more than he could even explain. How the king would view this, Robin wasn't sure. Then he wondered if it was perhaps something else, something he had first encountered a time ago. Robin let out a sigh.

"You are right," he looked up at the king. "I am not the same man that you remember. War has changed me. Before I would kill without thought, I would kill because I was ordered to. When I left this place, I made a promise that I would not kill, unless it was necessary. It is the same thing that I have taught my men."

There had been deaths, unavoidable circumstances in which blood had been shed. And that which had been, he wondered if it truly had been necessary. Was it for the good of the country? Sometimes, such as when Henry of Lewis, who had held intentions of betraying to the sheriff where the king would make port, it was. Others, he assumed, such as the Cannon of Birkley, were due to more personal reasons. Not even he had been able to keep this promise, and yet it was the very reason he was telling the king.

For several long moments now neither of them had spoken. Robin was unsure if he should do so, or continue to wait in the silence as he was doing already. What was the king thinking of him? Robin had once been a warrior, would have once done the very deeds he had failed to do earlier. Was it incompetence, or unintended treason?

The bruising on his throat was still evident, the tell-tale signs that he had almost paid the ultimate price only little time earlier. The charge had been of trying to kill the king. He had not done so, either this time or before, but was being disloyal, even without intention, any less of a charge? And the king was right, this would not be the first time he had been disloyal.

"War changes us all," the king spoke finally, pulling Robin from his thoughts. "For any of us to say that we are the same when we first came here would be nothing more than a lie. But one thing that has not changed is the fact that I know that I can trust you. I should have realized that before. And you are right, for I have been away at war for too long."

It was surprising news, and Robin shifted where he sat, looking up to the king. "So you will return to England?"

Richard did not answer right away, and Robin could already feel his stomach tightening as it sank. He knew the answer already, but still feared to hear it.

"When there is peace, I will return to England, and make peace with my brother."

"What if there is never peace?"

Robin was surprised to hear the man laugh. "I understand that one of your men had intentions to betray me. That he did betray you, and the others that follow you. Yet he is here, back within good company."

Allan-A-Dale. How that news slipped free was a wonder, but concerning all those who knew, maybe it wasn't so surprising. Robin knew that any resulting charge could be severe, could pay punishment to himself as well, but for some reason he already knew that was not the intention. "He is just one man," Robin shook his head.

"As is Saladin," Richard prompted, finishing off his wine.

Robin rubbed his forehead, giving out a small nod. It was true, but then Saladin was a ruler, with armies at his command. To convince him, and convince a simple man, it was a very different concept. But peace, he was certain, would not be found, not while bloodshed carried on. And now it left to question what would await them on their return home to England.

"Tell me, Robin of Locksley," the king started again, humor in his voice. "Where did you acquire your rather unique title of 'Robin Hood'?"

* * *

He was in there for most of the night. He found it difficult at first to open up, but given time the words came easily enough. Robin spoke of the things he had witnessed, of the cruelties the sheriff had done, and how he had gone from noble to outlaw. If the king agreed, or understood his actions, Robin wasn't sure.

Not everything was bad. Robin made a point of bringing up the things that were good. There were people that were still waiting for their king to come home. Perhaps he was trying to convince the man that it was best to return, even when he knew the man would not. When they finally did part, it was already into the next day, and Robin found himself back in the hospital tent shortly after.

The others were sleeping, no doubt something he should be doing as well. He almost had, the slightest movement pulling him from his near slumber and back into reality. Tentatively he reached up to touch her cheek, kissing her forehead as he did so. There was pain, he could tell, both in her stature, and in the way she whimpered.

"You're okay," he whispered, smiling for what he believed was the first time in a long while. Marian was watching him with lidded eyes, blurred and full of confusion. He knew that she hurt, and he felt selfish in the simple fact that he was happy to see her awake.

"What happened?"

A lot had happened. But he spared most the details. "You saved him, the king," Robin told her, keeping his voice quiet. They were not the only ones in the tent, others having fallen to injury and recovering just the same.

"I remember…remember something that happened. Something bad, I think," she trailed off, closing her eyes as she held her breath. Robin took her hand and gave it a squeeze, helping to distract from the pain.

"You were hurt." That much was obvious, he was certain, but Robin wasn't sure how else to explain it. As much as he disliked the thought, he had a feeling she would still defend Gisborne even had she known what he had done. She had done something similar the year before when he had stabbed her under the guise of the Nightwatchman. How she could still defend him he did not know, and Robin did not want to bring that into their conversation so soon either. It would come eventually, but he prayed she would be better recovered first.

"I know that," she answered with a laugh, opening her eyes. "I remember. What happened after, I cannot recall…is he?"

"He is alive," Robin answered after a moment. He couldn't be quite certain if it was irritation he felt at the sight of relief on her face. "Gisborne and the sheriff managed to escape."

"What about your men?"

"They are well," he nodded, his thoughts drifting. "Carter was killed, a few others hurt, but nothing grievous, I am certain."

"And what about you?" she was watching him now, more coherent than she had been when first waking, and her eyes were taking in his form. Subconsciously he reached up, brushing the marks on his face and neck, the bruises the only reminder of what had taken place during her restless slumber.

"It is nothing."

"Seems to be more than nothing," she whispered, grimacing once more in pain. Robin gave her hand another squeeze, bringing it to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss onto her flesh, resting a hand against her face.

"We will speak of it later." It was a light promise, for he was hopeful that she would forget altogether. Now was not the time to argue about it, as her rest was more important. Despite how much he wanted for her to stay awake, just to simply talk even if it was only an argument.

Too many times had he come close to losing her. First when he had gone to war, another when she had been injured in nearly the same fashion before. Again when she had gone to the altar with Gisborne. Now was just another time, and having her in his arms once more gave him hope that maybe this time was the last, for the thought of possibly losing her again threatened to steal his breath away. There was doubt in him that he could continue on without her.

The look in her eyes said enough, that she didn't fully trust him on that matter, but she didn't choose to argue about it. Instead her smile was weak, and her fingers grasped his hand in return as she drew in a breath.

"So, where were we?"

It caused him to frown, worry filling him again as he didn't quite understand what she was saying. Robin had heard of delirium, had seen it in men before they died. This could not be the same here. His heart quickened, beating in his chest as he watched her smile.

"Don't tell me you've already forgotten," she chastised him. When he failed to respond, she laughed, closing her eyes. A few breaths, and she opened them again, the pain having passed.

"The last time we spoke, we were getting married."

That was true, more or less. He could remember the vows he had said, his voice carrying in the desert wind. Carter's appearance had put an end to that, for better reasons, Robin knew. Now there was nothing stopping them, apart from a minor detail.

"Who will witness?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "We are in the Holy Land, in the camp of the King of England. And your men are here," came the quiet reminder.

"It is late," he told her, "we should wait. Let the others sleep."

"In the morning then?"

"At first light," Robin gave the promise, knowing full well that many of the crusaders, and most of his men would be up by that time. Life in the Holy Land started early. "You rest as well."

They shared a quick, brief kiss, Robin staying by her side even as she drifted off to sleep once more. He could do with rest as well, the thought hitting him as he lay his head down on his arms near her. The events of the days past ran through his mind, each detail, both good and bad, intermixing.

He had done what he set out to do; the King of England was safe, at least for now. With the Sheriff, Gisborne, and others still alive, Robin knew that might not be so for much longer. And if there were traitors inside the private guard already, there was a possibility of there being more.

The king had assured him that all was well. Traitors, if there were any left, would be flushed out, if they did not take to the hills themselves. Robin wasn't so certain, but he could not bring himself to argue anymore with the man. Richard would stay here, and continue with the war. And Robin…Robin would return home.

The sheriff had the upper hand, he would return to England first, and no doubt would waste little time. Robin and his men would have to follow shortly in order to ensure the safety of the poor. But that would come in time. Now was a time to rest, to recover, and gather strength. And come the morning, Robin would take Marian to be his wife.

Then, and only then, would they together worry about what was to come. And whatever it might be, they would face it together.

**The End**


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